The lover’s blanket

I feel your love surrounding me like a blanket, keeping me warm. Hold me close, lover; for when the wind blows your blanket away, I do not wish to face my wounds that you keep so lovingly hidden.

I am flawed, lover. Terribly and terrifyingly. In moments of despair I see my ugliness, my extraordinary ordinariness and my darkness and I run. I run for life. I do not wish to see these monsters. I want to be hidden safe and sound in the blanket of your warmth, your touch, your taste and your smell.

Yet, despite the love, I tremble. From beneath my toes to the tip of my fingers, I feel fear, gripping and raw, tunneling into my heart. I see demons, terrible, dark and menacing, threatening to kill.

And I give in.

There is only so much time before my fault lines show again and divide the ground on which you and I stand. There is only so much time before I shiver, holding your blanket close one last time. There is only so much time before I can take solace in three words that you so incessantly utter every day and every night.  There is only so much time before the trembling begins again.

I need to let go of your blanket lover. I must go and spiral into the incoherence of my tunnel.

And so I have.

I have held my misery and let it rain stones till I sat helpless and vacant, with tears as my only companions. I have let pain claw into the crevices of my being, stretching me apart and miraculously back together again.  I have been touched by the center of my sorrow in the naked solitude of the night and have found myself still alive, breathing and clutching at the pouch of my heart.

In the midst of it all, I can feel a noise: a gentle knitting, a weaving of threads that dissolve and mold into each other, a soft whispering, a reminder, that joy stands at the threshold of my door. I feel the threads taking a form, a form so utterly unique that I can call it mine.

I am building my blanket, lover. I am learning to walk. I am learning to see the beauty in your face, in your presence, in your voice and in your being. Above all that, I am learning to see the beauty in me.

I am beautiful

I am 4’10 and I struggle with image issues everyday. My body slants in different ways and my belly is not concave. No matter what I do, I always look different. I think different, I act different. I cannot go on a diet and I am too lazy to exercise. I have an average complexion and I bite my nails. I don’t look good in all pictures. No one has ever accused me of being gorgeous.

I love eating junk food and I love playing with my brother. I am maniacal. I am egoistical and stubborn. I am overly sensitive and stupid at times and at others, I am cranky and depressed.

I have a select group of friends. I cannot lie to them. I fall in love too easily and I think too much. Fashion and stilettos don’t interest me. I don’t style my hair and I wear loose clothes. I think beer is bitter and smoking is stupid. I take time to trust and have trouble letting go. I fail to do things to the best of my ability. I feel lonely too often. I question myself and my role everyday.

I get annoyed too quickly and I get mood swings. I have trouble controlling my anger and I cannot sugar coat my words. I isolate myself and I hurt those close to me. I cry out of want for sympathy and I act out of selfish reasons.I put on a mask in front of people. I pretend, I lie and I cheat.

But there is one in front of whom I am stripped of all desires, beliefs and pretense. I am naked in front of one. I feel that one creeping back to me every night whispering things I don’t want to hear, showing images I don’t want to see. Often times I have buried my head in the pillow and cried till my tears have dried. I have tried to ignore, suppress and repress that voice but no matter how hard I try, it returns whispering things like, “You are beautiful.”

I know this voice is mine and I cannot drown it out. No mask or fake smile survives its blatant honesty. So I look into the mirror and I try to believe what it says. And this time, I see a pair of black almond shaped eyes, a perfect small nose and full lips staring back at me. I see a girl’s small rotund face breaking into a smile. Her smile reaches her eyes, filling the room with warmth and sunshine. And she smiles wider this time, because she knows she is beautiful.

I may not have the skinniest waist or the best complexion; I may not have the right words or the right means to make a mark on this earth; I may not have the perfect body or the greatest talent, but I do have a kind heart.

I can provide a shoulder to cry on. I am overly sensitive and I pick up on emotion and intention easily. I see beauty everywhere: in the birds, the bees and the trees. I think people are wonderful. I see stories in random things, from a crack in a wall to a rat in a run down house. I find meaning in meaningless things.

By seeing beauty even in unlikely places, I am able to see to see the beauty in me. By seeing the beauty in me, I can’t help but smile. And when I smile:

I am beautiful.