Sincerity

I'm a reflective girl. A girl who's gaze kind of glazes near the  end of conversations. A girl who's always thinking of ways to make herself better, to quell the sadness that finds it's way around her heart. A girl who still manages to smile with her eyes. I'm a girl who thinks so much that I forget what it is I need to do, things I need to find to make me feel like me.

I used to think the thing I needed was love. Attention from someone who I could share my whole self with, not just the bright, shiny pieces. Someone who would treat me as I know I am, like a Russian doll, with smaller and smaller parts until you get down to the smallest, but most beautiful piece. A person to treasure me as I've always wanted, dreamed and hoped to treasure another. But I've been thinking for awhile now that love isn't the thing I lack; Mom, Dad, W, SoulBrotha...I don't lack for love. What I'm missing in life, after years of teenage pining and wishing and praying, isn't love, it's sincerity.

There are rare times when my far off gaze focuses, and I'm able to open my heart and let everything I know of myself out into the world. I say that I'm lonely. I say that I'm sad. I say that I wish I were in a better place to help those who are often helpful to me. The one thing I don't recall saying is that I just want something real. I want an authentic life, something that brings genuine joy to me. Mom always says to speak it into existence...why haven't I said it before?

I started thinking that it wasn't attention necessarily that I needed (let's be honest, if you're not specific enough, next thing you know you're getting all kinds of awkward, dirty and just plain wrong solicitations) but a sincere interest. Someone interested in more than my rack and hips. More than what I could offer to them. A person interested in me, interested in what makes me.

W hurt my feelings awhile ago; a guy I'm thinking of being more into wanted to hang out after he got off work. Though it was nine, I didn't see much wrong with it, but W says it was obvious what dude was up to. Cue my doe eyes; why would I think that he was trying something off-hand when all he said is let's hang out? Where does that mean "say let's get naked?" It was her tone, the condescending way she rattled off what he was really up to that made me just sigh and want to cry.

It felt like she was saying nothing is real, nothing any guy will ever say to me will ever be what he truly means. For a girl like me who craves the closeness, a girl with obvious trust issues no Drake and self-esteem issues that's like a shot to the chest; why? Why can't a person say what they mean? I do. Why can't I accept a person at face value? Why is it naive of me to hope that a person is interested in more than what's between my legs?

At that point, before I started sinking in to feeling sorry for myself I just shook it off and said with squared shoulders "F*ck them, all of them." I refuse to believe that nobody is genuine. I refuse to believe that every word has to be analyzed, every action scrutinized. Does it happen that people are disingenuous? Yes. Every time? No, and to believe so would put my soul in a terrible place of disbelief in what's true; good things happen all the time as long as your heart is open to them and your back isn't to them.

 If I am what's real, any of the extra fakeness will fade and phase into the background. If I am sincere, I will attract it. If I know I'm beautiful, I'll attract people who see that beauty. If I am what it is I want I can stop looking for it in the faces of strangers and be happy looking into my own reflection with a wide, honest smile.