Wednesday, October 24, 2012

a gift mumbled between black lips

Two goth kids said good morning to me today.  After I said good morning to them, they stared blankly at me for a moment and then begrudgingly mumbled a response.  I was this crazy bat on a bike, dressed like a Christmas tree, with flashing lights and various layers of bright clothing that adorned me like homemade ornaments. I embodied everything they were fighting not to be.  As I passed, I slowed and threw all my positive energy toward them.  They represented my younger self, a self that ached for acknowledgement, a self that eventually grew without the acknowledgement from others.  It could have been easier for me.  But it wasn’t.  And because it was hard for me, I am filled with a desire to make it easier for others whose reaching hands have been slapped.

When I said hello this morning, I expected nothing.  Instead I was given a gift mumbled between black lips as their pierced faces scowled for a moment, before radiating tiny sparks of light.  

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