me be pretty some day [open]
Jul 2, 2014 16:24:02 GMT -5
Post by alehue on Jul 2, 2014 16:24:02 GMT -5
a constellation of tears on your lashes burn everything you love and burn the ashes |
The day found Bandit pondering something that, characteristically, she would avoid. Am I pretty? As for the archetype of the attractive female body, she was more than pretty - she was beautiful, flawless, even. As the male she sometimes preferred to be though, she was not pretty, or handsome, or whatever other word one could conjure. Bandit, as a he, was too dainty, too small, too feminine. He was too curvy to be a proper male, or so it seemed from the sneering comments of others. Aesthetically, she supposed, she was only pretty sometimes. It depended on who she was that day, and who she saw. Some people thought her conventional beauty to be falsified or overdone, and then, to them, she was not beautiful. Her insides were, as most insides were, not nearly as simple as her outsides. She knew her outsiders were pretty, but her insides? They were a mess. She wanted to be nice, sometimes, but most of her was oily blackness, unable to be pierced by light. Was the will as good as the deed? Was it simply an indicator of how absolutely atrocious she was that, although she thought of goodness often, she was never able to execute it? Was she good? Was she bad? Was she anything? But most of all, was she pretty? No, probably not. She was not good enough to be pretty on the inside. It was a good thing, then, that no one seemed to stick around long enough to see that. They would only stay long enough to marvel at her paint-splashed coat and the sloping lines of her face, and then they would continue on before they could see the demons curled up inside of her, waiting to come out. On the inside, she was not pretty. Maybe she would be, some day. But not any day soon. |
