Stop asking me if I have a boyfriend.
Stop assuming if I don't, I'm a lesbian.
Stop wondering what's wrong with me because I don't have one.
I know everyone's getting married and ol' Rae's the only one still in college and not knocked up, but I want you to contemplate an idea for a second. I'm 18, yes? How old was the first couple? Oh, yeah, 21. How old was the second couple? Oh, yeah, 23. How old was the third couple? Oh, yeah, 29. How old was the fourth couple? Oh, yeah, 25.
So think about that for a minute. Hmmmmm. That makes sense now, doesn't it?
I thought it did.
So, I don't want to ruin my life by signing my soul to the 'tard standing next to me in an overly-expensive tuxedo. Go ahead and sue me on the grounds of intelligence and planning for the future of my career. I'm not popping out babies before I graduate Law School, I'm soooo sorry for the unfortunate state of my fertility. I rather be standing on the side of the staircase to the stage, wearing a pale purple dress and matching corsage with an intricate and ornate hairstyle done for free by my friends from the church youth group who graduated from hairstylery and manicurism in Cuba.
I like it a lot. Being behind the scenes is something I think everyone should experience.
Sure, being the center of attention is great... if you like that kind of publicity. I'm the one who makes the advertisement. I find merit much more evident in the creation and exposure of a work than in an explicit rant about how awesome it is and how great the fact that I created it makes me. Being the one to build the bridge and stare at the people driving over it at a safe distance is not as stalkerish as it might sound.
But, I digress once more. What's really important in all of this petty ranting is that things don't always have to be the way everyone generalizes them to be. Even if society spent thirty thousand years trying to treat every tedious technicality of life as a cliche, my life can't be even remotely defined by any one specific label it tries to implement. You assume one thing about me, and my actions might back it up, but that superficial critique might be the one thing that you don't understand about Rae.
You might see it in the light of your frontal lobe as something almost mean or ridiculous or too kind or insane, but deep down, you don't know why I did what I said I would do. No one hold true to their promises these days, so why should I? Because I'm not no one and I'm not everyone. So if everyone told you that you were right in your failed psychoanalytic survey of my soul, you're wrong. According to my standards, anywho.
But who's to say my standards are not the right standards? Just because I hold myself way up here and you expect yourself to be way down there doesn't mean your less-than-stellar expectations are to be implemented on me. Sure, if I put you through the perfectionism and deviant filters you might sink in the very copious sea of words and thoughts I never thought or expressed. But I don't sink. I soar. I don't even have a boat to rock to the rhythm of the water with. I have wings. Wings you can't cut or clip or spit on or break.
I have wings.
You might not see them now, or then, or tomorrow, or ever. But they're there.
They're the wings of a freed spirit that sings with the commas and conjunctions and articles of the language everyone forgot to speak.
The language of love? Don't be stupid.
The language of truth.
