How You Think Of Me

I believe people think of me like a grenade. One tiny touch, one wrong move or word and I'll blow up. But really I'm not like that. I can take hate. I can take criticism. I can take the answer no. It irritates me quite a bit, because I know people are only nice to me out of guilt, so they won't be known as the one who “pushed me over the edge.” Because like I said, you think I'm a grenade. You act like I will destroy everything in my way. And when I say 'you', I'm referring to you. I'm referring to the girl I sit next to in class who listens to me talk nonsense day after day. I'm referring to the girl in my math class who said to me when I was sitting in her seat that “If you were anyone else I would have told them to fuck off.” I'm referring to my parents who let me do nearly anything out of fear. I'm referring to my brother who would buy the entire world for me. I'm referring to the people I sit with at lunch who don't want to leave me alone because they think I will harm myself.

I am not as delicate as you think I am. I am not a twig that will snap with the swift movement of a hand. I am the trunk that you struggle to dig out of the ground. I am not a swimming pool, covered in “WARNING” signs and stickers. I am the ocean, strong enough to drag you out to sea with one wave. I am not a star. I am the constellations that create your star sign; I show you who you are. Please. You don't have to be careful with me. I am normal.