Sometimes I look at her from afar. She is curvy, not angular like what is beautiful now. Her body is not extraordinary. Her body is a little peculiar. maybe unproprtioned. She is afraid to be seen naked. She is never naked, but she walks as though she feels that way. That everyone sees her naked.

Sometime I hear them ask her why she covers her body in scarves and turtlenecks like an uptight, preppy bitch. Why she wears her hair long to cover her face. Why she is afraid of her sexuality. She says she knows she is not ugly. And you can see her. She is not ugly. She is beautiful. And you can see her look in the mirror, and on occasion be intimidated by what she sees.

Sometimes I can look at her for hours. Her face, younger and more abstract than her peers. She is not necessarily more beautiful than anyone, but she is prettier than she used to be. Some say she was that ugly duckling that became a swan. She says that she was never ugly, and she always kinda wondered what it would be like to be seen that way. Maybe be seen as a man, or an ugly old woman, only looked at for wisdom, and not for her beauty. But then again, ever since she was a little girl, she has respected beauty above anything else. And maybe she couldn’t handle not being somewhat attractive.

maybe.

when she says she’s tired, she means she’s afraid. when she says she’s lonely, it means she feels left out of the normal world. when she says she’s angry, it means she’s sad. when she say’s she’s afraid, it means she’s intimidated. when she tells you to leave her alone, it means she loves you. when she says she’s happy, she means that she wants to be happy, but doesn’t know what it means.

maybe.

i remember what she wore on new years. a maroon shirt up to her neck. a navy blue v-neck over that. a black bra from victoria’s secret that cost her forty-five dollars. jeans from abercrombie and fitch. white socks. she left the hospital in sweats, wearing less then she came in with. and she said, “i wonder why i didn’t just wear the purple dress, the one that came low in the front. i changed last minute, because i was not comfortable in barely nothing.”

some say she made up the whole thing. if you knew her, you saw it in her eyes. the pain was real.

i’m sure it doesn’t come up in conversation all the time, or even torture her like it used to. but i know she thinks about it at least once a day. changing her opinion on what it really was. on what it could have been. and what she thinks about her friends. the ones who left. who stayed. who gave. who took. she was not left with nothing, and has so much left, and so much is better. but she is still scared.

she is much different then she was ten years ago, or even two. but somehow when she is talking to you, she still feels like a twelve year old girl. and on occasion, she’ll look in the mirror to remember what she looks like, and acts surprised when she sees a woman. but whatever her reflection shows, she is convinced, she’ll always feel like a girl.

when she breaks down, and lets you down, i hope you know, she doesn’t mean you.