I have often wondered what the world thought of me.
I wish, to step outside myself and see me the way it does.
To watch the way I walk down the street or run into the arms of my lover. With my stilted gait. Do I really do it all differently, than anyone else does?
I would love to see my hair the curly rats nest that it is, blowing in the breeze on a hot summer day. Would I then see what everyone else sees in its natural cascading waves?
My eyes with their alluring hazel hues. I wonder, do they really sparkle like emeralds at times?
If I saw myself idling in line at the grocery store in my pajama bottoms late at night, Would I cringe at such a sight? Or would I applaud such obvious bravery?
I wish I could watch myself writing. I imagine myself in the midst of a story. I would watch in awe, as my left-hand scrolls across the paper creating something that wasn’t there before. My face lit up with the glow of fantasy. I wonder how beautiful I would seem, following my dreams.
I wonder if I came upon myself crying, shattered and broken. Would I be able to resist running up to wrap my arms around myself to whisper “everything will be okay.”
If I watched myself long enough would I be able to discern the moments the past catches up with me just by looking into my eyes?
Would I be like the rest of the world? Judging a book by its cover. Or would I see the past pains that broke my heart, the past joys I share in my heart? The present and all that I have overcome.
Would I see me as I know me? Or would I succumb to the poisonous way the world views me?
I know this cannot happen. I cannot step outside myself and look at who and what I am from another perspective. I guess I will have to be satisfied in knowing who and what I am deep down inside Instead of the distorted image, they see every time, I look in the mirror.