“💫Why is it that my eyes see something so different than the rest of the world? Why do they pick me apart, reflecting me as if I were a specimen in front of a fun house mirror? Why do they distort me into ugliness and yet let me view such beauty and wonder in others and the world around me?
If you could dismantle my mind piece by piece, would you find something improperly wired? Broken? Missing? Would you examine me as if I were nothing more than a machine, as if I were some object to be observed empirically? Or might you want to delve deeper? Perhaps you might.
If you looked into my heart, would you just see an organ pumping, albeit sometimes with a fluttering like that of a butterfly’s wing that seems so futile, to keep me alive? Would you see medical terms and diagnoses too complex to spell or pronounce? Or would you perhaps see scars? Scars that etch patterns along its surface? Some that delve deeper? Some that have been haphazardly stitched back together? And some that have evidently been torn apart again? Maybe then you’d start to wonder what truly makes me tick.
Do I run like a clock? Am I precise, orderly, compulsive, even, born out of that same mechanism you observed in my mind? Do you have to wind me back up when my anxiety and depression become too taxing? Do you need to metaphorically rescue me and return me to the light when the shadows take over with mental menacing claws and whispers?
Why is it that I can smile with my muscles, my teeth, and my intentions, but seldom with my soul or eyes? Is it because these are the same eyes that hyperexamine myself, finding imperfections layered over each other the way a step into a puddle creates a ripple effect? People say I have such beautiful eyes and a lovely smile, but what if they knew the truth? What if they knew the emptiness hiding behind my expressions? What if they knew that my soul is not solely a caged bird, but a broken bird with clipped wings and tattered feathers?
What if you knew who, why, and what I genuinely was? Could you answer that query?💫”