Wednesday, August 6, 2008

You’ll Hate Me For This

Let's cut the shit; let me tell you something about me.
In the result of our world being taken hostage by the terrifying point of a digital paint brush and the figures that categorise our waist, penis and breast size, I have self esteem issues like us all, although secretly deep beneath the trenches of my boyish façade, I love myself more than you will ever discover. Be prepared to see what I see when I'm staring into my own reflection.

Let's begin with appearance; I am slim and I would consider myself a good looking guy no matter what anyone says (with the exception of these fucking teeth). I'll prove it to you, put a mirror in my room and in front of it is where I shall stand for eternity. This year, I've spent two hundred and eighty dollars on not six, not seven, but three articles of clothing alone. Everywhere I go, my irreplaceable hat needs to be covering my bed-hair or gel needs to be holding my every strand in its correct position, I mean, you can't leave the house without looking as if you don't take pride in your appearance. Shave, moisturise, cologne; a clean and a fragrant, aromatic face can say so much about somebody and by maintaining the money-maker, I am stimulating senses in the people around me and becoming an awe-inspiring genius in the process. I don't just wear my clothes, everybody wears clothes, it's against the law not to, I like to give myself some character, using a little bit of initiative by accessorising a bit; with a ring on my middle finger, a cuff on my right-wrist and colour bands on the left I have done so much from doing so little. Take it from me, arms that resemble an empty car park complex is a ruined potential, like a good shirt in need of some companionship, why not put a nice necklace on it and give myself something that the clothing manufacturer didn't? With the little money I have, I like to spend big; when I turn up to a party, I want to glow in someone's eyes; I want the things that hang off the outside of my body to speak about what's on the inside; I want to look, smell and feel my best; I just want to look good, really.

Now, with who I am; I think words are my greatest friend and my best asset academically. I thank my parents for teaching me how to use these powerful weapons we as humans misuse, and surely enough, I thank god for giving me the explosive ammo that I need so I can give these beautiful weapons some meaning, we call this ammo my brain. Right now, I am nailing this, almost as if this document is JFK and I am Lee Harvey. Not knowing what you're talking about can cut me deeply when it is intellectually based; I will forever take comfort in knowing everything going on around me, and achieve that crushed-crayon feeling of asininity on the days that I don't. I am a great mate and I know that if anybody likes to think differently could never be more wrong about it. When I see you cry my heart melts for you no matter how much I dislike you. I love the fact that I can simply pick up a pen and write you lyrics; I think it's awesome that a prolonged bus trip can simply mean another blog entry of my philosophical nothingness; I love that I can see an object and type a page on it; I love that I can use words the way that I do.

Essentially, I am an awesome person.
Reasons I say this are as follows.

When I look into the mirror, I see:
a guy who could be a good boyfriend if he ever had the chance to be
a good looking dude
a person who has never set out to hurt another
a guy who thrives on seeing the people he cares about smile
someone who's been hurt and someone that's been happy
a person who's seen the beautiful and seen the ugly
a guy who's first to the scene but last to be thanked
someone who doesn't wish to fight with anyone, even though he does
a guy that makes an effort when the effort is mutual
a face that only smiles when the ones he cares about smile
someone who's genuine, nice & funny
a face of gold and a beating heart
a dying breed
and a guy who knows it.

1 comment:

  1. well, at least you can admit it.
    then there's nothing wrong with a little narcissism, i guess.

    don't brag about it, and you'll be fine slash in most people's good books