Just Words

You've probably heard about me before. I'm someone who was never bragged about. I'm not a straight A student, not a pretty girl, not smart, and not dedicated. I tried, but with so much failure it didn't seem to matter. At first when I said it's fine, it wasn't, but it grew to be. I got used to it. Used to a life where my all was never enough. Where to all I was no more than a let down so I started hiding in the crowds, just another head bobbing in the masses, a fish in the school, nothing notable about me, not a thing out of place, just how I was supposed to be.

Sometimes I'd remember how I wished that they’d loved the me behind what they see, but same as when that dream was first born, it died quickly. All I could ask is to be in the periphery. What I grew to expect from others in this normal world was not praise, not friendship, just proximity. All I needed was people around me. I was happy that way. I really was, I promise

What’s different now is that people see me. No longer mediocre, they see in me for what I’ve always been, cracks and colors, perfect imperfections. I know I should be ecstatic that they’re finally getting closer, but I’m not, because I can’t understand why.

Why, after all this time, are they closing in? Do they smell blood and if they do, will they bandage the cut or use it to rip me apart? Do they know that I’m the same as I was, still mediocre or are they scouring me for more?

Maybe the reason they finally see me, is the parts of me hidden in the book I threw into the world? Me in every way, brimming with colors and cracks, I let her float away over a year ago. Those fluttering pages filled with me and my words. I was so happy.

For a while all I was was happy. I was excited for my words. A true unfettered part of me was in the world and people were seeing it, at least that's what I thought, but soon I realized no one was reading what I wrote. Tucked in the corners, printed and ready, she remained as hidden as me, never selling a single copy.

My masterpiece rots away, like I did, mediocre and inadequate. Everything I had pushed into that luckless literature and still it failed. If my all is not enough, maybe I should just give up.

I didn’t put my all into the people who see me, so why are they there? If my all falls short and nothing gets me everything, why should I try? If work isn’t guaranteed, if it’s all luck, why do I remain forever dedicated to my doomed love? In the same way that people debate whether an unheard tree falling makes a sound, I ask, why write words that no one will read? Why do something for no one?

I’m writing for no one. I’m living for no one. I live and write and hope and wait. Maybe if waiting for people to see me worked, I can wait for people to read my words? All my life I waited for even one to see me yet I still stand so I must be able to stand whatever challenges stand in the way of my words seeing the world.

That’s right! I’ll stand again! Proud as ever, new words on new pages about new things ready to push into a world not looking for my words. A new me is hidden behind the cover, a stronger me, one who learned and grew better, one that used their failures as fodder in the fight to face each and every new defeat!

I'll turn each defeat into a brick, and with them I’ll build a reputation, a life, a world in which my words reach others.

I’ll reach them. I’ll help them. One day my words will find all the lost fish pretending to fit into their schools and I’ll make them realize they’re not alone.

You’re not alone. Everyone is like us, in some ways, but in others we’re all different.

I’ve always felt different; it’s why I started writing. The words I type are the words I’ll never say. What I can’t say, I put on paper. At first I did it so the words were out of my head, but then I got older. Now I write for the kids who sit alone, those too scared to say hi. I write for the girls who’s pigtails got pulled and the boys who had to play games they didn't want to. I write for the soul in a school of fish looking for someone who looks the same as them, or even just some fish who don't mind that they look different. I write for those who are bullied and those who aren’t bragged about. I write for a world that doesn’t appreciate each of the people in it.

One day my words will reach the whole world. The paper mes will help all the people stuck where I’ve been, it’s just a matter of time. Don’t believe me? Wait and see.

Ten years later I stand and watch as my words help the world. See me now with mountains of success and wonder how I’ve done what so many can not. How have I been through rejection after failure and still come out on top? How, after so long without a hint of hope do I have everything I ever wanted? My perfect profession and people who like me permanently beside me. I have it all, I do, I promise.

I have everything I ever wanted, but something still doesn’t feel right, maybe because I’ve made it all up?

Everything I’ve said so far has been a lie, not because it’s untrue but because I’m not. I never existed. You read my first words knowing they were from the mouth of a phantom, but still you believed and I thank you for that, but now, you must shift it from to to something else, what you can be. These are this ghost’s last words, so please listen carefully: I was made to represent all those who’ve felt like me. Every experience of mine was designed to resonate so that my story, my life, could help.

Don’t let this lying figment’s existence be for nothing. Remember me when you think it's all for not and remember that you got a chance I never did. You exist. You can do whatever your choose because your life is not decided. Your success is always possible and your failures always useful. Don't let yourself become a phantom and chase what makes you most alive.