Poems

Vulnerable

I feel that most people like to be told they're pretty when they cry. To have one good aspect when showing others their vulnerability, a distraction to be turned into a compliment to once again boost their drooping spirits.

To say I'm alone in taking it as an insult is merely an understatement; at least in the face to those whom I'm acquainted.

For me, to be told I am pretty when I cry is pitiful, and I am one who hates to be pitied.

To give a grasped attempt at reassurance of something unrelated to not only the topic, but of barriers concerning my appearance and emotions is insulting to me.

Regardless to the similiarity in us all to NOT be deemed unattractive, I would rather be ugly when I cry.

If someone can see me when I cry and ignore how ugly I look, care only for the root of what is causing me such distress is to know who truly cares and is unafraid.

Perhaps at first it is awkward, but only if they get past that, past telling me I'm pretty when I cry, will I know they aren't grasping at straws and silently begging for the moment to pass out of discomfort.

To get past such silent discomfort and awkwardness, they would have to be unafraid of what they see.

To view such raw distress, pure and passionate agony, vulnerable emotion when everyone is desensitized and unfamiliar with it and to then make a real effort to make me feel better or solve the problem, that is when I know I have found someone who truly knows and cares for me.

But pretty?

Please. Don't pity or belittle me with such words as "pretty" when my life is currently anything but. Because that is when I'm the least concerned of how I look to you.

My apologies if I thought you cared more about my feelings than your own unease about seeing them so openly displayed.