in real life

some girls, when they cry, just look more beautiful than they already do and their unashamed loveliness rends your heart

but i, when i cry, can’t seem to stop, and my face gets red and blotchy and my eyes swell and i look terrible, snot and mascara running everywhere

i envy those girls, i do

the ones who never have razor bumps or scars from shaving — the ones who wear shorts carefree because their legs are long and lovely, not short and stubby — the ones with flawless complexions and perfect hair

the ones who always do everything right

and i know, honestly, that these outward signs don’t really matter –that i’m free to live outside my body

but sometimes the ache of longing is hard to bear, and the absense of feeling, but the presence of feeling alone

i know You’re there, but i can’t touch You

i know You hold me, but i can’t feel Your arms

i’m home, but i guess i’m Homesick

You catch and keep each one of these tears streaming down my cheeks, making my eyes puffy, my face blotchy and my nose run

i know You created me this way for a reason … 

                                                                               … sometimes i just wish i knew why