In My Own Skin

     I envy them. They walk around like the air belongs to them. Like the sun is shining on them. Like there is nothing holding them down. And I envy them because of it. Who do they think they are? Beautiful, mysterious, charming, classic? I envy them so much it hurts, yet I want to be one of them. I want to be who they are and have what they have. 
     Their skin fits them like a glove, mine hugs me like a mitten. Their thoughts move with their bodies in perfect, blissful alignment. When they laugh, their hearts smile and their eyes sparkle with a spontaneous, undying warmth. You can feel it. I know. You know. 
     My skin smothers me like a mitten. It wraps around me in a protective embrace, sheltering me from defining myself. My thoughts race ahead of me, but my body declines to follow. When my heart breaks and all I want to do is cry until the tears make me sleepy, my body does not let me. It tells me to break down inside. To hold it all in because that's better. Is it better?
     When I feel elated, feel like standing on my toes and spreading my arms to soak up all the sunshine there is, my body hesitates. My arms stay by my side and my toes stay on the ground. It is as if they belong there and have no curiosity about the wonders around them. No, my body stays where it is and lets my mind do all the dreaming. I have traveled miles in my thoughts, but only walked a few steps of my dreams.
     We all see them around us, those beautifully flawed and hopelessly natural people. Their presence feels exotic. You analyze every part of them trying to figure out their secret. Is it the hair? The curve of the eyes, the dimple, or maybe its the clothes? What is it exactly that they have and you don't and how could you try and get it too? How are they able to exude such confidence with every word that escapes their lips? How are they able to physically do all the things you would have done, could have done, but didn't? 
     You could have been so much more, gone so many places. Think of all the laughter you could have sang, all the meals you could have shared, and all the people you could have had in your life. In that drama class, you could have been the one everyone admired, the one who captivated audiences. You know you have it in you. I know I have it in me. So then, what is the problem? Why are we so uncomfortable, you and I? We stand at the hearth and let the warmth touch our skin, but we don't let the glow of the fire kiss us too. We shy away, you and I. We hesitate.
     But I want to be like them. To be comfortable in my own skin. To move as one, single being. To think about what I want to do and to do those things. To dance with awkward moves that make me look as if I've lost my mind and to not care, to not think about what I must look like. To stand up for the people and things I believe in with no army to back me up other than the strength of my convictions. I want to sing and not feel as if every note is weighing me down. For the song to come from my soul, synonymous with every breath. 
     How wonderful it must feel to be able to wash your face in the morning and walk out the door loving every freckle and every scar on your body. Smiling at every little thing that makes you happy and not questioning the beauty of your smile, not caring if it elicits anyone's judgement. How insanely electric it must feel to live your day in a messy hairdo and a slouchy outfit not caring how others perceive you because you know you have gorgeous inside. You know you could look polished if you wanted to. But you don't care, at least not today, because this is life. Every day is magical despite your clothes and frizzy hair. Life doesn't care about the brand of your jeans or the shade of your blush. It's splendid for the sole reason that you're living it.
     I don't want insanity. Not a million friends, just to touch a million lives. I want to be remembered by someone as they go to sleep at night and think about their day. I want to be remembered in stories and I want to live in memories. But more than anything I want to live in my own memory. I want to visit a country for every letter in the alphabet, snort when I laugh, and reference everything in life with quotes from Harry Potter. I want to eat Nutella out of the jar on rainy days, speak up and compliment people I don't even know, and to voice my opinions because if I don't, who will? 

     All I want is to be able to spend almost everyday loving the person I spend most of my time with - myself. Why bother being envious? None of it matters when you are all you want to be. Irrevocably and undeniably comfortable in your own skin.

©AnumAziz