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by gizmo Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #1718907
for those who are LGBTQ, a supporter, or even those who don't understand/care plz comment
Many people ask me"Do you like the person you see in this mirror?"
I step in front of the full length mirror, and stare blankly at it.
I say, "What person?"
They looked at me confused, and I continue.
"I see a monster, with its hair chopped up.
I see scars across an aged face, wrinkled from experience.
I see dried blood on my hands, from the wars I had to fight.
I see the eyes of a snake, but bigger, and red.
I see clothes, ripped and shredded from living in a forest."
They ask me, "No, really, what do you see?"
I say "Do you really want to know?" They nod, and I begin...
"I see everything I've already told you, and more.
I also see a sparse forest, with glowing lights of fire.
I can hear the shouting of an angry village, trying to kill me.
Do I have to continue?" I finish, hoping I won't have to.
They are intrigued by this. "Please, finish this story..." They beg.
"Okay..." I say, reluctant, but look at the mirror once again.
"I see a wonderfully handsome man.
Oh no, not a lover, not a Prince Charming, but my slayer.
I see his sword, held high, with a shield in front of his chest.
I can see the fear in his eyes, the quiver in his triumphant face,
and the shiver running through his body.
I feel the terror, as if my own, but its not mine.
It's his.
I try to run away, but the horse catches up with me, and I am forced to fight.
I try to dodge the swing of the knight,
but I can't. I am not agile, nor fast.
I am a slow, ugly, horrible beast- no,
monster. I turn t the knight, get on my knees,
and beg him to kill me.
He stares, fascinated, confused, and shocked.
To remove the spell, I reach for his sword, touching his perfect skin with my bloody, ugly claws.
He seems shocked I can take the sword from him.
He pulls it away from me, and slowly stabs my stomach,
making it last longer than I hoped.
"Good bye, my love..." I whisper, as I change back into his long lost love,
a human, who has always been there,
but was hidden by lies, rumors, and assumptions.
I never got that chance to shine to speak forth my mind,
to believe what I wanted to believe.
I regret putting him through pain, just to relieve mine.
But, I wouldn't have wanted to do it any different.
He pulls the sword out of me, trying to save me,
but I am already gone."
I look at the faces around me.
They show disgust, and most grimace.
"You asked me, if I like the person I see in the mirror,
and I replied, what person?
I am covered over many assumptions, labels, and rumor,
turning me into the so called monster that I am.
No one knows who I really am, until those last seconds,
when they finally realize that they were wrong.
And they realize that they are closed minded,
not looking for truth within.
And many won’t care enough to let alone.
And other will save you.
Then those who try to save you, but do more bad than good.
But, in the mirror, what I see, is the way many people
who feel death is the only way out.
They are very
Oppressed,
Saddened, and
Unhappy.
And then they beg to be killed,
and when no one does this atrocity,
they kill themselves.
This is the way life is for many of us.
But, the question is,
what are we going to do to change it?
We complain that people do not treat us fairly,
but, do we even stand up for ourselves?
Or are we the weak, who lets others control our lives.
Enough is Enough.
I will not let this happen anymore.
But, to make change for others,
you have to change yourself.”
I look from face to face,
knowing many of these friends are the oppressed,
or the scared,
or even the ones who fail with courage.
“But, we can’t stand up, remember? An eye for an eye-”
“Makes the whole world blind, said by Gandhi. I know.
But, what he meant is being violent and mean to others,
while they do it towards you,
is not the right way to go.
But what you fail to mention, is that Gandhi stood by his people,
and by his beliefs.
In this era just starving yourselves
and marching would not be called acceptable.
And we are too young right now.
Right now, though, we need to look within ourselves.
Are you going to help the cause you are involved in,
whether it be politics,
religion,
sexuality,
civil rights, and equality,
or even just education.
Are you?
If you say, I am helping,
then how?
How are you helping, and how can you improve?
And to those who say,
I want to help... but I can’t...
I’m nothing, that is not true.
You are an individual human.
Which make you more than you could know.
If you don’t like the way people are treating you,
be nice to them,
stand up for yourselves,
and don’t let it get to you.”
I looked around once again,
some of these friend hate me for telling them
they don’t do enough for themselves.
Others looked at me with inspiration, and fascination.
While, still, others look confused.
“I don’t see why you think we don’t help ourselves. You are assuming too,”
said a boy in the front row.
“You cannot deny that I’ve had the same experience,
so I know the feelings,
the hurt,
the awful fear of others,
the wishes of a slayer, to come to the rescue,
because no one seems to understand,
but tell me, where am I wrong?”
And no one spoke..
“But,” I said,
“I want to help you.
But I can’t help you,
if your not even willing to help your selves.
Who is willing to help themselves?”
I look around, but no one will talk.
No one will offer that courage.
Then I fell to the floor, and cried for all the
diverse that has been oppressed,
unhappy,
miserable,
and those who don’t know how to help themselves.
“Why do you cry? I thought you wanted to help us?” said a girl.
“I want, and will help you,
but if you can’t help yourselves, there is no point.”
I stood up to leave, but that girl came to me,
hugged me,
and whispered,
“Thank you. I feel more brave than ever.”
And after that, everyone cheered for me, and thanked me for
making them realize, that they need to help themselves.
‘So, I guess it worked...’ I thought to myself,
and looked into the mirror, and saw a beautiful person,
who I recognized as myself,
and smiled.
© Copyright 2010 gizmo (gizmo59 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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