Trying To Be Normal If you try to look into my eyes you might succeed, if only for a moment until I feel your gaze incise and my skin wires buzz with too much current. Long ago, I began to invent a way to wear a kind of compromise –“normal”, like a suit of skin. But you circumvent this, if you try to look into my eyes. It’s not your fault. This is my own disguise, trying to hide my alien skin, to prevent my green strangeness from showing through. If one’s wise, one might succeed, if for more than a moment, to coax me to wear my own skin, content to drop the mask which has helped comprise this costume, my shame, my hidden torment. But when I feel your gaze incise me, the edges of the veneer peel away. It dies as I remember how crystalline and easily spent I am: my heart explodes in glass-shatter demise while my skin wires buzz with too much current. Understand that for me, it’s a mountain’s ascent to return your gaze often, to study your eyes until my nerves burn with a fevered lament: so I can only be me, without compromise, when you look into my eyes. Written 4/19/11 © 2011 Nicole Nicholson
Posted on: Mon, 28 Oct 2013 19:29:31 +0000
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