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smibboThere's a little girl who screams louder than anyone on the playground. She has long scraggly hair that's possibly pulled back in a loose ponytail and she runs around in hand-me-down clothes that won't be handed down one more time.
She has long hair, because who wants to sit still long enough for a haircut, or she has a "pixie-do" (girl version of crewcut) because who has the patience to wait for their hair to grow long enough to pull back?
She has bright searing eyes that look straight inside you, making you squirm when she says nothing. Maybe she has deep intense eyes that seem to cover her feelings but hint at your own. Perhaps she has heavy lidded eyes that never seem to really open, making her seem shaded, hiding behind what she's thinking about you.
Her eyes can bother you though... because you just know she's looking through you, through all your facades.
Her voice is clear and ringing, when she wants everyone to hear her. Her voice is soft and trembling though when she's filled with teary emotions. Her voice is harsh and questioning, when she's got something she needs to know. Her voice is cool and calculating when she knows she has the goods on you. Its the detachment that worries you most; her air of objectivity cuts away all the posturing you might have considered with anyone else.
She runs the school yard, bossing all the boys and ordering the girls around. She yells frequently but can just as easily change to a slow, modulated pace, hissing her words at someone who won't play along. Her feet are thin and pale, from all the stamping and hustling and kicking and tromping. These feet never really stop moving. You can tell that stagnation is this girl's enemy. No one is allowed to rest when she's around.
She waves her arms dramatically. Her hands never fold up and her arms never align properly. Flailing her scenarios before a capitavated audience, she mesmerizes them all with theatrics Olivier would die for. Her ability to enthrall and place you IN the story is what shows her power.
This girl rules the playground. Her chameleonic reign cannot be duplicated; for she is whatever is needed at the moment to keep the action happening. She is verb personified, this girl.
Did you look at her closely? Did you sit her down and listen to her intently? Did you pull her away from her adoring minions and test her kinetic power?
I bet you never did. I bet you saw this girl once and dismissed her easily from the childish view of the playground you remember: she's too bossy, why do the kids follow her? she's a wonder, what an imagination! she's a fake, always bullying others. She's just another kid on the heirarchy of the school yard.
What if you did look at her? Did you ever think to examine such a child? Were you afriad of her too? Were you jealous of her? Despise her? worship her?
Were you her?
If you were, maybe you remember... most likely you don't.
Because if you did, you'd have to remember the things that made this little girl into the kiddy-tyrant that she is... you'd have to bring back the memories of things better left alone. Things no one likes to think about.
She has scraggly unkempt hair, or she has super-short utilitarian hair. She has old hand-me-down clothes that won't be handed down again. She has thin legs and pale feet with callouses. She has vertigo arms that enfold every story just so. She has a theatre voice that will never be lost in a crowd.
Mostly, she has those eyes. Eyes that see straight into you. Beyond you though, is where she's really looking. Because behind her telscoping gaze is the image of herself, scared, alone and ashamed of who she is. She'll die before she'll let you see that, so do her a favor and look away.
Because she's not looking inside you to reveal you; everyone thinks that but the smart ones realize the truth. She's looking inside you to hide herself from herself. She's looking inside you so she won't have to see herself broken again. You are not her and that is what she wishes for more than anything.
No matter what you thought about her, there is one thing you never knew. No matter what you thought she wanted from you, all she ever wanted was to be somebody else.
She has long hair, because who wants to sit still long enough for a haircut, or she has a "pixie-do" (girl version of crewcut) because who has the patience to wait for their hair to grow long enough to pull back?
She has bright searing eyes that look straight inside you, making you squirm when she says nothing. Maybe she has deep intense eyes that seem to cover her feelings but hint at your own. Perhaps she has heavy lidded eyes that never seem to really open, making her seem shaded, hiding behind what she's thinking about you.
Her eyes can bother you though... because you just know she's looking through you, through all your facades.
Her voice is clear and ringing, when she wants everyone to hear her. Her voice is soft and trembling though when she's filled with teary emotions. Her voice is harsh and questioning, when she's got something she needs to know. Her voice is cool and calculating when she knows she has the goods on you. Its the detachment that worries you most; her air of objectivity cuts away all the posturing you might have considered with anyone else.
She runs the school yard, bossing all the boys and ordering the girls around. She yells frequently but can just as easily change to a slow, modulated pace, hissing her words at someone who won't play along. Her feet are thin and pale, from all the stamping and hustling and kicking and tromping. These feet never really stop moving. You can tell that stagnation is this girl's enemy. No one is allowed to rest when she's around.
She waves her arms dramatically. Her hands never fold up and her arms never align properly. Flailing her scenarios before a capitavated audience, she mesmerizes them all with theatrics Olivier would die for. Her ability to enthrall and place you IN the story is what shows her power.
This girl rules the playground. Her chameleonic reign cannot be duplicated; for she is whatever is needed at the moment to keep the action happening. She is verb personified, this girl.
Did you look at her closely? Did you sit her down and listen to her intently? Did you pull her away from her adoring minions and test her kinetic power?
I bet you never did. I bet you saw this girl once and dismissed her easily from the childish view of the playground you remember: she's too bossy, why do the kids follow her? she's a wonder, what an imagination! she's a fake, always bullying others. She's just another kid on the heirarchy of the school yard.
What if you did look at her? Did you ever think to examine such a child? Were you afriad of her too? Were you jealous of her? Despise her? worship her?
Were you her?
If you were, maybe you remember... most likely you don't.
Because if you did, you'd have to remember the things that made this little girl into the kiddy-tyrant that she is... you'd have to bring back the memories of things better left alone. Things no one likes to think about.
She has scraggly unkempt hair, or she has super-short utilitarian hair. She has old hand-me-down clothes that won't be handed down again. She has thin legs and pale feet with callouses. She has vertigo arms that enfold every story just so. She has a theatre voice that will never be lost in a crowd.
Mostly, she has those eyes. Eyes that see straight into you. Beyond you though, is where she's really looking. Because behind her telscoping gaze is the image of herself, scared, alone and ashamed of who she is. She'll die before she'll let you see that, so do her a favor and look away.
Because she's not looking inside you to reveal you; everyone thinks that but the smart ones realize the truth. She's looking inside you to hide herself from herself. She's looking inside you so she won't have to see herself broken again. You are not her and that is what she wishes for more than anything.
No matter what you thought about her, there is one thing you never knew. No matter what you thought she wanted from you, all she ever wanted was to be somebody else.
