Wednesday, 10 April 2013

A Painted Face.

I painted my face for you today.

I hope you notice, but I don't think you will. I paint my face for you all the time and you never notice. You take my painted face for granted. You think it's my real face. You force it to be. You'll only notice if I don't paint it.

I dressed up for you today.

I know that you won't notice. You think these are my clothes, you think this is who I am. That these clothes are mine, and not yours. You think that I want to wear them. You think that I want to wear them for you. You think I define myself by the standards that you have set up for me.

I have never not painted my face.

I have never not dressed up.

I do not know whose fault it is.

I didn't know who I was again; for you today. If you noticed, you kept it to yourself. You allowed it to happen for reasons beyond my own reasoning. If I knew who I was, would you still be here? Would I want to be? If I was me, would you still be you?

I don't want to paint my face.

I don't want to dress up.

I want to know who I am.