They've got their eyes fixed on me, staring at me, scrutinizing my breaths, looking at my gestures, my facial expressions. And I want to scream. I feel naked.
I
feel
naked.
They put their hands on their mouths, eyes still gazing at my depth, though all they stare at is the emptiness that I manifest. I'm no illusionist but I'm not an open book either; open books rather carry the gloomiest pages. I try to hold my breath, to let the sun ray penetrate my being so that all they'd see is..is..someone else, not me. I hide my heart beneath my chest, I'm not really sure where, probably in the deepest depths of my soul, so that when the sun shines no more, my heart and soul would be one. And I'd be but the reflection of that which I chose to show.
My heart would be my cloak to hide what appears to be what they want it to be, not what I am. What lies beneath me. They create me inside their heads. They name me. A fool or an ignorant or a clueless child. Sometimes smart or arrogant or even selfish. And when they're proven wrong, a series of new names comes pouring down like that first. And though I don't know what they call me, my heart pulsates like it's been pushed into living, into re-living, except that it's dying. Your heart doesn't always beat faster when it's in love. Fear does that too. And hatred.
I'm not sure when will their eyes abandon me, but I'll have to push my heart and soul back into their places so that I can be, fearless, what they'd never thought of me.
11:57 AM.
I
feel
naked.
They put their hands on their mouths, eyes still gazing at my depth, though all they stare at is the emptiness that I manifest. I'm no illusionist but I'm not an open book either; open books rather carry the gloomiest pages. I try to hold my breath, to let the sun ray penetrate my being so that all they'd see is..is..someone else, not me. I hide my heart beneath my chest, I'm not really sure where, probably in the deepest depths of my soul, so that when the sun shines no more, my heart and soul would be one. And I'd be but the reflection of that which I chose to show.
My heart would be my cloak to hide what appears to be what they want it to be, not what I am. What lies beneath me. They create me inside their heads. They name me. A fool or an ignorant or a clueless child. Sometimes smart or arrogant or even selfish. And when they're proven wrong, a series of new names comes pouring down like that first. And though I don't know what they call me, my heart pulsates like it's been pushed into living, into re-living, except that it's dying. Your heart doesn't always beat faster when it's in love. Fear does that too. And hatred.
I'm not sure when will their eyes abandon me, but I'll have to push my heart and soul back into their places so that I can be, fearless, what they'd never thought of me.
11:57 AM.
Photo credit to Knukkohed
