A Broken Child
Ever look in the mirror and see a monster? Or rather, a pitiful broken child? (They're the same thing really). I hide my face a lot, most of my pictures are those I had no choice but to take, the face on my WordPress profile is the person I most relate to in fiction: The broken child named Anakin Skywalker. He looks cool with the almost flaming orange eyes of a Darkside user. But, it's also the face of his sorrow, of his unending worrying and pain, of the betrayal he felt from his surrogate fathers. It is his self-torture given a glow, his self-immolation in a glance. It is his choice to betray all he thought he loved in order to save that he loved the most. It is his perplexing emotions at the contradiction of it all. It is me right now, at my lowest, even if I hide behind the best of my pretensions.
I always wanted to write a poem that starts with: "Look into my eyes, what do you see?", but I could never find the right words that should follow. But I wonder what people see when they look at me. Some say a handsome young man, others closer to me would add "weird" or "interesting", but do I see these things? I sometimes pride myself on being "weird", but that itself is a concession that hides me behind a vague word. The truth is I don't see much. I know I'm probably "smart", with a lot of varied knowledge on a lot of topics; But if that's all I am, then I'm nothing at all. If all I am is a collection of things I know or appear to know and things I appear to be, then I'm just that, a thing.
A friend put me up to this post, especially since it's long overdue I confront my inferiority complex, and God knows I have absolutely no idea how. But maybe just posting about it is a start. Perhaps hiding it is the problem, so here I am revealing who I see myself as: A broken child.