jugg3rn4ut

[jugg3rn4ut]

If I die, what are the chances I'll come back in a beautiful body?

Would I have to die a certain way?

Is martyrdom for surface level perfection vain or an act of survival?

Selfish either way, maybe, but I can't live like this anymore.

Please let me try again.

[jugg3rn4ut]

I've always felt detestable. Well, maybe not always, but for a good majority of my life. As if there's something deeply unpleasant about me, something off-putting buried in my bones or whatever. I was a pretty quiet kid, never enjoyed socialising (that was my little sister's niche), I'd give polite responses when addressed but mostly tried to figure out a way to escape the conversation overall. That was alright though, it didn't matter then. After all, most people don't hate 7 year olds. The trouble started once I turned 11. People become a lot less accommodating once you hit your teens.

 Any behaviours that are considered quirky for a child quickly become unnerving when you hit puberty. All of a sudden you're weird and scary. You have friends, but boys look at you with pure disgust and you cant figure out why. You've always dreamed of the perfect highschool experience, a fairytale teen romance is your only goal at this age, but you don't fit the “beautiful brunette main character” bill. You're odd and average and most importantly, black. No one wants you this way and that sucks ass so obviously you try to change, act and look more “normal”, but it's near impossible to completely detach yourself from what's natural to you when you're 13. Your mind and soul follow you like a dirty stain, making your attempt to blend in look uncanny at best. Surely everyone can still see that you're a freak, and even if they cant, you certainly can and it's disgusting. 

So eventually, keeping up the act becomes too much for you. You try to revert back to your old self but you don't remember how, the lines are too blurred at this point. Then you're angry. Angry that you tried so hard to become socially acceptable only to end up in situations you never thought you would end up in. Boys are so so so evil and you can't look past that. They grope and grin and laugh in their group chats and they burrow into your head, nestling down so you can't pull them out again. They'll say things that never leave your mind, leaving you hearing their voices on repeat like a ringing in your ears that'll never go away. Boy-induced tinnitus, or boy-induced psychosis, or both maybe. You can no longer see yourself the same way, you can't shower the same way, you can't daydream the same way, you can't speak the same way, nothing is the same after that, not ever.

But you're stupid, or maybe just human, there's barely a difference there. You still crave affection from a boy. You're mind is set on them being evil but you're so so lonely anyway. Being weird is lonely, but being a bitch feels like you're trapped in a malfunctioning submarine with no reflective surfaces and no echo. Strange description maybe, but that's it.

You're furious at the fact that you've lost so much of yourself, to the point where fury is all you can feel. Everything you do is fueled by that bitter, miserable rage, the knowledge that you've lost control of who you are and how you're perceived. You have so much misdirected adrenaline that for a while, you feel powerful, productive. You can stand up for yourself, speak your mind, put on makeup and you feel on top of the world. Untouchable. You have to be untouchable because God knows you can't handle that again.

Then comes the drop. Unfortunately, the world is constantly spinning and remaining on top of it is impossible because you are not fast enough to keep up, and you never will be. You've hit a wall, hard, and you no longer have enough energy to find your way over it. You realise that since you were 11, not a single boy has looked at you as though you were human. Not when you were odd, not when you were normal, not when you were a bitch, and certainly not now that your mind has stopped working. You know boys are evil, you know it, but the fact that you haven't experienced the full extent of a boy somehow fills you with self-loathing. 

It's crazy, its so bad of you to think, but sometimes you wish you were still sexualised the way you were when you were normal. You feel so undesirable now and your track record doesn't convince you otherwise. All the other girls are having their hearts broken but you're just hated. Boys hate you and you hate them but it's not the same. You hate boys as people but boys hate you as if you're a piece of gum stuck to the sole of their shoe. You aren't a person to them, you aren't even an object. You don't actually know what you are. Your standards are out the window now but that doesn't actually matter, because there's no one to meet them, or even fall short of them, because no one wants you. No one. Wants you. 

And you want someone so badly. You fall asleep curled up in a ball, pretending to hold yourself in a warm embrace. You crave human contact, romantic contact, even eye contact, but no one wants you. You dress up and do your hair, try to look pretty and you know you do, but no one wants you. You post picture upon picture, try to seem fun and interesting and you ARE, but no one wants you. You cvt yourself and punch yourself and cry and cry and cry because the scars are so bad that they'd surely put any boyfriend you ever get off because you look despicable, but you don't actually have to worry about that, because no one wants you. So you keep cvtting yourself, it doesn't matter either way because you're so innately unnerving and gross and weird and rude and creepy and fcking ugly on the inside.

And then you realise how similar that last paragraph is to the first and you think, I think, that I haven't actually changed. All of this shit, just for me to end up being exactly the same as I was at eleven years old. 

[jugg3rn4ut]

I have Thirteen Eyes and they all fit in my skull.

These Eyes are big and brown,

Dark though, maybe black.

They don't see too well.

I would wear glasses,

But where would I find a pair with so many lenses?

I just have to squint.

It must be frightening to have me squint at you.

No one else I know has Thirteen Eyes.

Do you?

Probably not,

You likely have two,

One on either side of your face.

Mine are dotted around my head.

People regard me with some caution,

Perhaps some awe.

Having so many Eyes is fascinating for others.

To look at, that is.

"You must see so well!"

I can't.

"Imagine all the money you could make!"

I haven't made a penny.

You'd think these Eyes would come with abilities,

Insight into the past and future,

A knack for multitasking,

An automatic business opportunity perhaps?

But my vision is blurry

And I look odd.

How do I market them?

Go on a talk show?

Break a world record?

Join a circus?

It wouldn't last.

I can't keep up,

I won't stay relevant,

I'll just be the creep with too many Eyes.

I can't sleep well,

How would I lay my head on a pillow

Without getting feathers in an Eye,

Poking one with a corner of the duvet?

The Eyes don't close all at once,

There's a weird delay,

Much like a blinking lizard.

Am I a lizard?

I often get eyelashes stuck in the tear ducts,

Some are quite hard to reach.

Showering is painful,

Soap burns

And I can't close all my eyes

To dodge the suds in time,

So I just writhe in discomfort.

I don't like showers.

I don’t have any hair,

Just Eyes everywhere.

I see people with pigtails and braids,

It's rather miserable.

I have friends,

Always have done,

But it's hard to feel comfortable with a friend

When they can't stop staring.

I'm so volatile.

I see so much at once,

Yet I can't see any of it properly.

It's so overwhelming it makes me twitch and itch.

I feel like a disappointment.

So many Eyes and so little to show for them.

I just stay in bed all day

Because I dread being seen.

Or seeing.

I'm so insecure and yet I refuse to admit it outloud.

I'm supposed to be cool, I have Thirteen Eyes,

I'm supposed to be superhuman,

But my Eyes don't work.

I'm so undesirable,

Imagine waking up in the morning,

Rolling over in bed,

And seeing a mass of Eyes staring back at you.

I'm so angry.

I didn't ask for this!

It wasn't my idea!

My life is ruined forever because of the way I am.

I can't fix it.

There's no cure.

How do I even cope with it?

It just gets worse as I get older.

Life is so daunting,

What if I have children and they come out like me?

No,

I can't risk that.

I can't get a good job,

I'd scare the customers away.

My Eyes could be a crazy selling point,

But that'd only last so long.

I can't cope with this,

I think I've begun hallucinating.

Or maybe my Eyes do have powers.

Maybe they can see the Unseen.

If so,

I wish they didn't.

The Unseen must be unseen for a reason.

The things that appear to me are abhorrent.

Bugs and viscera,

Distortion and death.

Sometimes they even have a smell!

Or maybe that's just me.

I haven't showered in so long,

The water's gone green and viscous.

My vision has gotten clearer.

I wish it hadn't.

Everything's become too clear,

And I can't shut it out.

I think I've reached the end now,

There's nothing more to write.

So I'll do this again now,

Before the cold starts to bite.

I had Thirteen Eyes and they didn't fit my skull.

They're no longer big and brown, they're just red and dull.

They see very clearly now, the two that remain.

After gouging the others out, I'm in a bit of pain,

But that's OK, it won't last much longer,

I'll bring it to a stop.

I'm looking over the bridge now,

It's a very long drop.

That comforts me. It'll be over fast.

The snow is falling so it's probably time.

You can treat this as my final goodbye,

A last hurrah, a parting gift,

I'll die content,

I'll die with Two Eyes.