Blood Are Words

My whole life everyone around me has acted like an opened wound; constantly bleeding out. Making the walls and floors around me burst with a brilliant red. It has always been a challenge to escape the symptoms of the disease that is society. I often feel as if I live in a war zone. I run through no-man’s-land, trying to cross to the other territory. It is so hard not to get shot down. Though the truth is, it’s inevitable. No matter how fast you run eventually someone's going to fire the perfect shot.

I yearn to know what hides behind the blood they spill every day. Knowing someone, really knowing someone is the most beautiful thing life has to offer. I still remember walking into the room; it was about three years ago now. The walls were painted a lambent shade of yellow. And when I lifted my head there he stood, a sardonic grin plastered across his face. He did not speak as the students filled the room. He just stood there. Everyone walked in with clouds of laughter surrounding them. They sat at the desks closest to their friends. They whipped their heads around to speak to them letting strands of hair fall onto their faces as they did. When he, the teacher, began to speak a prodigious silence fell over the room. He began to ask questions and each and every student's hand shot up except for mine. I rested mine on the desk beside my binder. I was sitting there, in Math Class, my weakest subject, watching all of my peers participate. They acted liked steamships. They seemed too big in comparison to me. They chugged through the water smashing the waves to pieces. So sure of themselves it hurt. I was sick and tired of just sitting there on the edge watching. My hand shot up. The movement so sudden that people turned to look at me, I stuttered on my words. My wrong words, I had made a fool of myself in front of my peers. Then I noticed from each and every one of their eyes and mouths blood trickled. Their eyes held a sneering gaze. Their mouths spilt taunting words. The teacher just stood there, his face blank. He was either oblivious to the occurrence or trying to hide his amusement behind a mask, it was impossible to tell.

I had never felt so humiliated. However, I soon realized that they were simply speaking to me with a language I had yet to learn. They were telling me that they were all open wounds, which bled with words instead of blood. They had all felt as humiliated and  judged as I had on that day; at some point in their lives. I don’t want to become an open wound. I will not become an open wound. I will continue to run through no-man’s-land and I will be the minority; I will not be shot down. I love people, they are beautiful. Do not judge others by their weakness but by their strengths. Taking time to get to know someone is a beautiful thing.