There's something about some people, where you can only wonder.
Are their lives so bland, colourless and tasteless that they find a person like me amusing?
In the colours that make up the world, is mine so rare that people can only stare? Stare and draw amusement from hushed mockery?
It must be a really sad place where no one is themselves that they come from. A fat clone of a woman and her knock off of a son, neither one unique or individual in any way.
You mock me? No, in my head it is soviet Russia, and in soviet Russia me mocks you.
I was smiling by the time you got off the bus, laughing to myself. My life is way richer, brighter, and open than yours will ever be. I will be unique, a blend of things unconventional, beautiful, and interesting, but you? Tomorrow you will be the same clone, and your son will still be a knock-off of popular culture. I have my hardships, of which I count this sort of thing to be, but at least I am me. I have thought and set my sights on something worthwhile. I wonder if, in five, ten, or maybe twenty years, you'll still be the same people who laugh at strangers who are a little bit different. I know I wont be the same timid, worried little girl.
Today; I will still be me, I won't be swayed by bigotry and hate and give in. I won't back down and give up being me. However odd you think I look. However strange you find me. However weird you consider my feelings. I am who I am, and I find your discrimination laughable. Who are you? What gives you the right? You're two nobodies on the bus, just like me. I did not forfeit my rights or humanity when things worked out this way; I am a human being, complete with thoughts and feelings. Don't you understand at least that much?
Who I am does not make me sub-human, and tonight, I wont feel any less of a woman, or a person.
You have my pity. I'm sorry you turned out the way you did.
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