Polished Not Tamed | Glossi Elliot

people tell her she’s gifted. people tell her she’s loved. people tell her she’s got it. and whatever it is, it’s sensual in the minds of all brilliant artists – the speakers, the writers, the sculptors, the painters, the abstract feelers, the impressionists…they all agree. but does she know it? does she see herself in a light worth glowing or dimming? is she kind to herself? she’s kind to others. she makes sure everyone she meets feels loved and supported and validated, never wanting to miss an opportunity on someone feeling left out. she’s kind to animals. she’s stopped traffic on numerous occasions to save the life of a dog. she’s put her own safety aside for the benefit of another life. she’s empathetic. she can’t watch a fist fight because it hurts her stomach too much. she has high morals and values and expects life to act in accordance with the scientific principles her graduate studies was governed by. she needs to know the why behind her actions. she is curious beyond surface-level inquiry. she wants to know what approach took you to your answer. if it was mathematical, philosphical, a matter of logic and reasoning, experience driven. she wants to know what guides the minds of herself and others. consistently tinkering at the inner mechanism of her own mind. like that of a clock with hands never quite agreeing on the time. she tries to linearize a world whose topography varies from region to region, person to person, feeling to feeling. she wants to untangle it all not to disrupt the world’s ideologies from their carefully woven nest, but with the intent to augment. maybe she can make it better, cozier, comfier, roomier. and how ironic to think that all these silent requests she prays upon are a result of a painful existence. of not belonging. of not having room. of feeling locked out. out of sight. feeling invisible when she needed someone to see her the most. visible when she just wanted to evaporate. she wanted to give to others the kindred spirit she didn’t have to lean on. sitting in the dark is so lonely. sometimes it helps just to have a little light. a little recognition. she didn’t know how to start. she didn’t know what to say. her therapist said, “what if you figure it out as you go?” oh, what a terrifying thought. acting on a whim. she fret she didn’t have enough magic within her to carry the light as she wrote. she thought she had to have it all figured out. but what if the illustrator makes new interpretations as they draw? what if we become inspired by not the creation itself but by the creator creating? so what happens if she doesn’t have it all figured out? well, we will have to join her, wait, and see what she uncovers. wait patiently as she thrifts through the woods picking sticks, stems, dirt, and earth – laying the foundations for growth, life, and the prospect of someone else understanding. she didn’t know what she wanted to say. she just wanted it to be bold, italicized, and underlined.