I want to sit down with all those people who ever liked me and allowed themselves to fall for me because they thought I was pretty or ‘hot’.
I want to tell them, and to show them just how full of imperfections I am.
I want them to see that, that ideal perfection which they imagine they missed out on, was a very very very little piece of me… And that I am, in fact, so mostly imperfection, that my elegance is practically imperceptible.
I want to see the look on their faces when they discover that my pretty lips do more than just pout or give the most passionate of kisses. The horror when they discover that I have opinions, the kind to be voiced too!
I long to taste their disappointment when they realize that my soft fingers, however long and frail looking, know the meaning of hard work and despite the soft touching and caressing, do not need the mercy of their dimes to keep up and stay true to their power.
I yearn for them to look at me in the face, this time not for intent of a romantic or sensual moment. No. I want them to see the tears. Arranged chronologically, moving like PowerPoint slides. I want them to experience the duration, the frequency and the intensity. The temperature. The mood. The entire atmosphere of all those emotional moments. How shocking it must be to realize that beyond all the make up is an actual person, a strong person with powerful emotions and a heart that is bound to be broken!
I want them to see my bosom, and feel my chest. This time, not for the thrill or during the throes of passion. I want them to experience how many times I have been a pillar to a soul, a crying shoulder for another person and a home. How unbelievable it should be for one of their kind to come to terms with the fact that this bosom, with all its softness and smoothness, does more than just pleasing their hungry and ravenous male eyes!
I want them to know and believe that my beautiful hips that gyrate so erratically on the dance floor have also been the ones to sway so gracefully as I walked away from the worst of relationships and situations.
You like my long legs and smooth, clean shaven skin?
You see how my eyes light up whenever I talk about something I’m passionate about?
You see how I let you cut me mid sentence and I don’t seem to mind?
I want them to know that I have been hurt, by people, and my expectations…
That I have hurt people…
That my heart is always beating and that it is always full…
And if they only want to have me because of how I look, or how I smile, or how I walk, or talk, or dance, they got a whole other thing coming.
I am way too imperfect to be a tool.