I talk too much.

I have acne.

I’m smart.

I have opinions,

passion,

and ambition.

I love deeply,

feel strongly,

and hurt.

I don’t wear lip gloss

(usually).

I know what I believe.

I say what I mean.

I’m gifted.

I’m pretty.

And I still think I’m marriage material.

‘Cause if I’m not,

then who is?

I think about my great-great grandma

just every now and then.

I think about how I never

knew her, yet without

her I couldn’t be.

I wonder what my great-great grandma

would have thought

had someone suggested

that she rip my great-grandma

out of her womb

and send her little baby

swimming,

spinning

down the drain.

I imagine her feisty

just like me.

A woman of conviction.

Passionate.

Fiery.

I think about my great-great grandma

and all the women

who have gone before me.

I am thankful for the chance

to live

to laugh

to hurt

to think,

and I wonder

how a mortal such as I

could be afforded a choice

that would rob another

of the chance to do the same?

Turn off the stereo.

You’re all alone

and crowds of people

won’t change a thing.

So why delude yourself

into the false security

of lifeless sounds and images

when they only drown out

the truth?

The truth may be unsettling

but at least

it’s the truth.

Even if you’re living a lie,

the lie never negates the fact

that it’s a lie.

So lie down,

embrace yourself

and let the lonliness

that is this life

overwhelm your soul.

Feel the slow steady ache

that’s always been there.

Cradle it in your core

and thank God

that He’s given you a sign.

Amidst the muddled mess of catchy tunes, idle thoughts, mixed emotions, and overused phrases she searched for clarity.  She craved a moment where it all stopped—just one second of peace among chaos.  “Can I ever just stop thinking?” she wondered.  She wanted so badly to know what it would feel like to have a head full of silence—to make her skull into an empty room where she could toss whatever she chose inside and watch it bounce off the walls.  “There I go thinking again,” she thought.  She gazed with jealous eyes on those she considered simple minded.  She wondered if their minds were really so simple after all.  Maybe their brains housed the same chaotic mess as hers.  “Probably not,” she concluded. 

Was it really worth it to be such a deep thinker?  The voices of her teachers and mentors throughout the years resounded through her head.  “Thinkers change the world.”  “Not everyone thinks in color—it’s a gift.”  “You can’t change who you are.  You’re bound for greatness and there’s nothing you can do about it.”  But what if she never got out of her own head?  What if she just stayed there like a prisoner held captive by her own thoughts?  She’d once confessed that she thought she’d go crazy if she had to spend one more day inside her own head.  Her comment was reciprocated with several confused, slightly frightened stares.   This is how she knew she wasn’t normal. 

Yet, most people seemed to view her lack of normalcy not as a concern, but rather, an asset.  Most days it didn’t feel like an asset—more like a curse.  She just wanted to be like everyone else.  She was certain there wasn’t a person in the world who didn’t long to be like everyone else, which was absurd because everyone else just longed to be like them.  However absurd, it still felt nice to wish it.  It felt nice to do something that didn’t make sense—to just act without reason in however miniscule a way.  And so, to get through the day, with everything in her, she declared (to herself and anyone who might be listening), “I just want to be like everyone else,” but all the while she knew it couldn’t be further from the truth.