ORIGINS: We missed our peacocks. But this time we didn’t want to let their tail feathers steal the show. So, we went with fishhooks. Because that is what beauty is for.
I never understood how fishhooks worked. Worms are ugly and covered in dirt, and ever since I was a child, I was told that beauty would get me everything. I was raised to make the best of my peacock feathers. To be a light in the dark. You know those ugly abyssal fish? The ones that use starlight to lure their prey? I didn’t have to be told that hearts are creatures that lurk in the dark. Hungry. Wanting. Biding their time. But I will always be grateful to the person that taught me how to shine, brighter, more alluringly than any other peacock. To the person that put my heart at ease, by letting me know that my ugliness wouldn’t be noticed until it was already too late.
I am an only child, but I always felt like I was one of a pair. Regardless of how pretty my dresses were or how many kind words others bestowed on me, there was a part of me that loathed every dress and every word. It wouldn’t hurt so much if I could say that that hatred belonged to the ugliness in me. But the warthog only had eyes for its own tears. No, that hatred belonged to me. To the child that wanted to feel at home in her pretty dresses, in every kind word. To the child that was easy prey. And always fell hook, line and sinker. For things as beautiful as peacock feathers. And strove to be their perfect match. In vain. Because every dress and every word, no matter what, always felt two sizes too big. To that child that still can’t accept herself for who she is.
I should have been the princess in that fairytale, but I had already shed too many tears. And even though none of them had hardened on my skin leaving me covered in warts, when that dreadful kiss made its appearance, I could only see myself as the toad. But I didn’t want someone else to take pity on me. I didn’t want someone else to make me feel beautiful. Gratitude. Helplessness. Being at someone else’s mercy. I wanted none of that. But I still haven’t found a fairytale that illustrates the love I am looking for. And I am starting to think that maybe it doesn’t exist. That I should just accept that kiss. Those crumbs. That probably will taste like tears.
What I always hated about growing up was the taste. My parents weren’t birds, but sometimes I feel like I grew up on regurgitated food. They had their lives. Sweet. Sour. Salty. Bitter. They had things they wanted for me and things they wanted to spare me. They did their best. Every night they wished me sweet dreams. And maybe that is why I don’t like the aftertaste that childhood left in my mouth. Because it felt more like their dream than my own life. The colors were too bright. As bright as peacock feathers. Iridescent. Like a trick of the light. Fake. But I have heard that bats regurgitate their food too. And I can’t blame them. Because not everyone wants the best for their blood. And even if it wasn’t, at least they did.
Don’t be silly, even children like me know that beauty is only skin deep. That kind hearts don’t have a future, because there are too many ugly, hungry things lurking in this life, waiting to prey on them. It is either water in your mouth or tears in your eyes, and I intend to grow up. I intend to be beautiful where it counts. Because I don’t have dreams, I have a future I am looking forward to. And I won’t let that fish get off the hook, no matter what.
I have no doubt that I would have been happier if I had just lived my life. But my house was full of alluring books. I couldn’t help taking the bait, and now it’s too late. I grew up hiding, swimming in a world of make-believe. My definition of beauty crystallized, and it won’t change. Those words were seawater. They permeated my skin, my flesh, my bones while they were still taking shape. And now it’s too late. Closing those books won’t break the spell, it won’t break the hold beauty has over me. Something will always be lacking. This life will never be enough for me. It will never compare. To the seawater my bones want to be buried in.
If we said that we have no regrets, it would be a lie. The sea may not be as vast as the sky, but we wanted to keep swimming. We didn’t want to grow up. We wanted a chance to fall in love with a thousand different things, before everything ended up set in stone. Our likes. Our dislikes. Our definition of beauty. That’s what hurts the most. We can’t help how we see the world. We can’t rewrite that definition that keeps mocking us like an iridescent peacock feather. Because we still want to find beauty around us. We want to find a thousand different things to replace everything we have lost along the way. But our hearts are set on those colors. And there are only so many shades of green in this life.
Right Hook: Please, come with me. We can be free.
Left Hook: You can be ugly if that is what you want, but I refuse.
Right Hook: Don’t be like that. We can swim to the bottom of the sea. To the darkest corner of the sea, where we will grow our own starlight. Don’t you want to shine beauty on the world? Don’t you want to accomplish what the sun fails to do every time it bathes the world in red? There is magic in starlight, and I know we can fall in love with the world. Please, take my hand.
Left Hook: I have no use for childish wishes. I won’t lie to myself. I can tell ugliness from beauty. I have what it takes to make the most of my life, and I don’t appreciate you trying to change the rules.