SHE is HER

She didn't need to hear that. She smiled, dismissing something that probably will bother her for a long time. She is too exhausted to explain, to justify the things she did and did not do. She changed the topic and told herself, "I will show you what I'm made of." She vowed never to be weak, never to admit that her life is a total mess made worse by the responsibility to be her. It's never easy to be "HER". It is like living through a fantasy that she doesn't even want to impose upon herself.

She moves around, smiling, laughing, making people smile, making people laugh. She walks with a skip following a rhythm that is meant to make everyone believe that she is perfectly fine. She accepts the offered words of sympathy, she listens to impressions, expressions, depressions, suggestions. She is praised, postively reinforced, assured that she will be fine. She is criticized to her face, behind her back, through direct statements, side comments and sarcasm masked by jokes that are meant.

She entertains, makes fun of situations at times, of herself most of the time. She doesn't walk, she struts, afraid that if she walks slowly, her bluff will be called. She looks straightly at you through her bigger than life shades, faking self confidence, majesty, royalty.

Her smile is the frame for the tear-painted canvass discreetly mounted in her eyes. Her laughter is the beautifully arranged composition of her unheeded calls for help. Her strut is her version of how she has been wanting to walk away. Her stories are her distorted dreams. Her noise is her concealed craving for silence.
She is more than what you see, what you hear, what you feel. She is her. She's human. She not only bleeds, she gets scarred.