Learn

I've learned something. And I feel that's the greatest thing a person can do: learn. For learning is compromising, not yourself, but rather compromising the idea you once had of what something was. . .what something meant. At seventeen, I'm doing more than my fair share of learning.

Learning that maybe Konrad sees me fitting in his life, but not in the original spot I had thought. Maybe he's right, maybe I'm right--or maybe we're learning that it's just a difference in perspective. A difference in how I view myself and where I view myself. Perhaps it's he who views himself differently, clouding his judgement enough to say "sorry, no" when I ask him if he feels the same. But what are feelings?

What is this need to validate how we feel? Why do we seek it in other people? If for once, humanity validated one another's feelings, our world would forever be changed. We would learn. Learn to coexist, learn that maybe (just maybe) you don't need to agree with someone's feelings to respect someone's feelings. I can't tell you how many times I've gotten frustrated because someone's told me I "shouldn't feel that way." You know what I can tell you? The number of times I've used those vicious words against another person since then. . . . It's easy to remember numbers that don't exist.

That is my learning, and that's the truth to it all. That I might not understand how someone feels. Perhaps I might not even agree with it. But that gives me no right to invalidate their feelings. Feelings are personal, they ought not to be changed, altered or interfered with. They are simply felt.

Learn not to question others' feelings, but to accept them. Do the same for yourself. Learn.

Not my game to win

I can hear the questions buzzing inside their heads. What does she think she's doing? Posting a picture with her midriff and cleavage on full display? It's like she's advertising herself. . . that's why she was raped. She must've been doing the same thing.

I can hear the thoughts as a few brave souls hit the like button on Facebook. As the few brave souls venture that maybe, just maybe, the raped girl has feelings. Maybe the raped girl enjoyed taking a selfie after two years of grueling workouts to transform herself from the girl that man once knew into the woman she finds crying back at her in the mirror today.

Little miss raped girl is all too public about her experience. Rumor has it she even liked it. Went to the cops? She's out of her mind. I heard she got pregnant. An abortion? Yeah, heard that too. Someone said she was a virgin. . .finding it hard to believe with that picture. 

. . . .Their thoughts never leave me. Their voices never hide.

It's so damn frustrating living behind this curtain of uncertainty. I'm just too damn tired of feeling like I just can't catch a break. Don't show enough skin and I'm intimidating--I'm the religious fanatic. Show too much skin and suddenly I'm a whore.

I can't win.