The Idea of Me

The idea of me is that I am intimidating.

I am unapproachable.

I am a "tough" chick.

I let everything roll off my shoulders.

Nothing affects me.

Nothing hurts me.

I do not feel.

I am dead on the inside.

I am a "pretty" girl who can snap her fingers and get what she wants when she wants it.

I am a princess.

Yeah?

Really?

Just once I would like something handed to me.

Just once.

I would love for that something to be along the lines of remission, financial freedom, or a guaranty for my children that I will be there to watch them graduate, get married, have babies...

I do not want diamonds, shoes, purses, cars, or bikes.

I don't want promises of a fairy tale that appeals to you and not me.

I don't want to fit into your box.

I don't want anyone to buy me anything.

I don't want anyone to do anything.

I don't want anyone to give me anything.

...or attempt to save me.

I just want to be treated like I am a human being capable and deserving of love, understanding, and the same respect that you expect from me.

I don't want you to explain to me the many ways in which you can "satisfy" me. You can't.

I do not want you to ask me my stance on one night stands. (Am I not deserving of more than a fuck to satisfy your selfish needs?) Seriously?

I am not a bitch or a cunt or a snob because I won't sleep with you. I am a girl with a lot of common sense and a little more self-respect than you may be used to. Deal with it.

No, as a matter of fact, it isn't flattering to be asked out by people who only see my face or some other physical attribute they find appealing without having a clue as to who I am on the inside.

Can you tell me one thing about me that you cannot see with your eyes?

Would you still find me attractive, cool, funny, silly, if I didn't protect you with my laughter and constant smile?

Would you still love me, want me, need me if you heard me scream and cry out in the pain that never goes away and is at best a dull throb?

Tell yourself what you must, I know who I call in the middle of the night when the pain closes my throat, burns my eyes and makes me tear at my own flesh and bite my lips to keep my children safe from a pain that they should never know...

I am not the enigma you have created in your mind.

I am just a girl.

If you cut me, I will bleed.

If you hurt me, I will cry.

You cannot buy me.

You cannot fix me.

...and my tiara was knocked off when I was a child...

I am better and more real than your idea.