sohma g. dawling (theinnocence) wrote,
sohma g. dawling
theinnocence

the uniform i wear all the time.

i often say how much i can't wait till i can look like me again. the majority of people who hear this don't understand and almost always reply "don't you always look like yourself?"

granted, my bone structure, face, and body frame never change but not being able to look like "me" gets to the point it is suffocating. i feel like i am constantly in a uniform i am made to wear that i can never take off.

i am not somebody whom is happy with one color of hair or covering up my marks of pride or having to put in and out the parts of me i have deemed part of me.

i am not "me" as a sign of rebellion. that is a conclusion almost immeditetly jumped to by people who don't understand. i am a wildflower that constantly needs to change the color of her petals. my marks of pride (my tattoos) are the ever evolving constellation of my life. my way of sometimes nodding to fate, sometimes fighting against it. my piercings are just another way for me to notice the gentle curves of how beautiful the body is.

when i have to have the same "normal" hair color at length, i feel as if i am withering, for "natural" hair colors on me make me think of withered petals. when i have to cover up my stars i feel like i am having to hide my personal triumphs. when i have to take out piercings, i feel like i have to leave a part of me hidden away.

and i get told all the time about how i need to do it to look professional and it's for a job and everybody else has to and to just get over it.

you know what? this area is filled with people with their own decorations, but they are accepted and it's okay and it's no different way of marking themselves as them as my way of marking me as me. it's just that bleaching your hair, whitening your teeth, getting a fake tan, and wearing big gold jewelry is "acceptable". how bleaching your hair a color other than your own is acceptable but splashes of color found in flowers aren't, makes no sense to me. how radiating your skin to turn a darker color or spraying on a different color is better than me getting astral badges of my past hurdles i've overcome, makes no sense to me. how the many rings of expensive gemstones lining almost every finger is more acceptable than a very small snug ring through my nose is more acceptable, makes no sense to me.

me being not "me" makes me feel like i am constantly in a uniform i don't want to be. i don't get to take it off. i work, eat, sleep, and live in it but i have to do it for materialistic gain. i have to shutter myself for "appropriateness" that makes no sense to me. my skill, my work ethic, my productivity are not defined by my personal appearance. i can understand having neat clean clothing and good hygiene as mark for professional appearance, even attitude plays a great degree. heck, i can understand an actual clothing uniform, but having to put myself away for some notion of what is acceptable and what isn't?

i have a decent work ethic. i have a great number of skills. i am devoted, dedicated, and honest. just because i want a rainbow of colors on my head to change often, i permanently etch my life story into my skin, and love the feel of small pieces of metal adorning me i am deemed unacceptable or not worthy to be taken seriously.

i am a kind person. i am generous when i have enough to give. i work hard and if it's work i enjoy, i get lost in it and the rewards go to whom it's for and i bask ina glow of mission accomplished. but feeling like a withered flower for so long, makes me feel like i am actually a withered flower. that hasn't changed since i was little and would draw on myself or started painting my hair with markers. feeling like a withered flower effects not just me internally but my work. i feel trapped and confined.

and i am thankful for every job i've had in the past that let me be me and accepted me on my merits of workmanship rather than outdated system of beliefs of what is acceptable despite it not making logical sense when boiled down.

and every day i cross my fingers and count down the days till i can once again look like "me" and be happy in what i can do.

and when i go to bed, i feel like i'm a flower opening up to the world for a dream into another realm, rather then laying down in a constricting uniform that seems to get tighter as the days go by and i'm fighting for rest, rather than ready to dive into a world of marvel and delight in my dreams.
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