Cold hands, cold heart

I am not sure how I developed this reputation at present but those surrounding me believe that I am a polite, delightfully reserved person. Never would I have thought this day possible. Yet if I disassemble the past few weeks, I realize this: I live my life in fear. Fear of what offense thing I might say. Fear of what obvious judgment I might throw around. Fear of what embarrassing moment might inflict its cruelty upon me. FEAR. It is a trepidation that only a greed so avaricious could burden me because truth be told I don’t give an effffff what fools like these think. I let shadows of my rightful nature creep out (naturally, for how else would representations of myself move about) which then cast a shadowy suspicion on the preconceived opinions. As I play rap music, I am flooded with statements of disbelief and recalibrating judgment: “I would have never pinned you as the type to like this kind of music.” In moments such as these, it is an internal struggle—a chasm, if I may be so bold—to keep the callous hip pop (no, not hip hop) and side-eye under wraps. Betch, please.

Don’t make me justified my thug.

Beauty is pain

The number of compliments that I get on this watch of mine is in every way proportional to its fantastical beauty. Just the other day, at Whole Foods no less, the cashier, who was the suave owner of great, flowing hair flattered my sense of style by declaring that my watch was wiiiiiild! Or at least, I took it as a compliment. He said it with such surprise that I sensed that it may have even offended him at first glance. Naturally that descriptive adjective causes me slight discomfort when used in my direction but I appreciated his interest. I was tempted to return the praise but I refrained from frantically declaring: Thanks your hair is WILD too. It was so silky… People with great hair probably live better lives than the rest of the world. They don’t even need to be that attractive because society perceives great hair as a rarity that forgives any shortcomings. If you think about it, a majority of the population has bad hair. I, myself, would categorize myself as the bridge that brings the two worlds together. Yes! I am the mediator that allows these two opposites to converse peacefully without inflicting churlish judgment. Without me this world would be polarized, I tell you! Society sees my hair and either mourns the unattended potential or rejoices in the valiant effort. Depends, depends…

But I digress, this fashionable watch, while rare in form but profuse in popularity, has caused me great unwarranted social grief. This watch is a conversation starter. And in my opinion, conversation starters only lead to personal damage and remorse. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation with a stranger that I have not regretted in some way. I leave each conversation a more miserable human being.

And I say that quite befittingly with a furrowed brow and a wicked cynicism far beyond my years.