Prom Queen by Catie Turner- All quotes are lyrics from the song.
“I’m invisible to bright lights, just standing on the sidelines, waiting for a standing ovation that I know just isn’t mine.”
I’m not sure any of you have ever seen me. You look at me, but it’s as if you are looking through me. Why are you looking past me? Is what is behind me more beautiful or interesting? Your eyes avert or shift down from mine, never quite meeting my gaze. Is what you see in mine so terrifying? What message is spelled out in them? Can you see the others screaming for help, bashing their bodies against their cages behind my cold, dead expression? Perhaps you know you can’t help them, and that’s why you look away.
“Two girls walk into a party, the one that gets noticed isn’t me.”
Why can’t they see me? I’m looking right at you. Sometimes I dress in cute things to get your attention to no avail. I dress like trash and get the same reactions. My hair can be perfect, my clothes can be pristine. I can stop biting my nails to stumps, I can even stop making my cuticles bleed. I can be presentable, and still you won’t look at me. It has always been this way. I’m the third wheel, the extra person, the excluded member if there is a cut to make. I’m the purgatory man, designed to fill the space in-between your last friendship and your next meaningful one. Nobody ever stays with me. I wasn’t designed for long-lasting use.
“It’s a terrible feeling being the ghost on the wall that’s always disappearing.”
Revealing your core to someone is terrifying. Revealing your core to someone and them leaving you is worse. The core of someone’s being doesn’t begin rotten. Nature versus nurture, that grand and boring argument. It’s a combination of the two, plus whatever fate, karma, and curses have in store for you. Once the rot sets in though, it’s over. It begins as a spot here, a little flake there. And it will spread so rapidly that soon you can’t hide it. Eventually your rot blends in with the rot of those that surround you. You all blend together with the hatred and evil of the world, like the one big happy family that you always dreamed you would have. Except even now you still don’t belong, because your rot isn’t like theirs.
“‘Cause I wanna be somebody to someone, but it all is starting to blur like a dream.”
The feelings I felt for all of you are starting to mesh together into a disfigured lump of forced hugs and empty words. Wash, rinse, repeat. Every year it seems as if I set out on an adventure to find that new person, perhaps this one will even like me. And every year I come up empty handed. At least I’m surrounded by my loved ones! I say this as it’s only my voice that reverberates and echos back to me. You’re alone, my voice says back to me. At least it’s honest. When I look in a mirror, so many others look back. And yet none of them are me. This is not my face, this does not belong to me. Nobody wanted it, now watch it decay.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll convince myself it’s overrated anyway.”
Observation is a skill honed by the lonely. Being a spectator is something you mastered at a young age when you realized you were here to be alone, and the only way to get your love was by absorbing the feeling through others. And I must say, your love is trash. But I still want it. I’ll take your leftovers. I’ll take your scraps. I’ll take the remnants of a fantasy that you call your reality, I’ll take it all for I have never tasted such wonders on my own scalded tongue. I will gladly take what you have taken for granted all these years, what you so woefully threw in the garbage for the newer model. And even your trash will see who, and what, has come to collect it. It will look at me, in the swirls of color. And it will look right through me.