While you’re doing fine, there’s some people and I
Who have a really tough time getting through this life
So excuse us while we sing to the sky.
I am quiet and you should be too.
This is a letter of apology. What am I sorry for, you ask? I’m sorry that you’d prefer everyone in the world to be the same. I’m sorry that you dislike the way I conduct myself. I’m sorry it offends you that I don’t want to have a conversation with you.
How many people in my life have told me to speak up? I’ve lost count. How many have told me I’m too shy? Enough. But today, I hit my limit. Today I got a grade back from a class presentation in which I was told to change. I was told that I wasn’t the best communicator and I should be more like my partner. I should make more eye contact and be more engaging with my peers.
Excuse me? Who do you think you are? What divine being gave you the authority to not only tell me I could be better, but by saying I could achieve that by being like someone else?! You’ve pushed me one step too far, I’m afraid. Too close to the edge of a cliff you don’t want to push me off of. Assuming this were a real cliff and not a metaphor for my sanity, I would push you off.
Don’t you dare tell me who to be. Don’t you dare tell me to change.
I am a child of God and he made me exactly as he wanted me to be. And I believe that Jesus knows the person I am, and yet he still decided I was worthy of dying for. So no, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me.
But the rest of the world does. The rest of the extroverted world that continually tries to push people into a sick conformity.
I’ve spent almost twenty years trying to change who I am to please people like you. Screw that, and a middle finger to you also.
Are these words enough to please you? Am I communicating enough for your liking?
Some of us aren’t like you. Some of us would rather write out their feelings because it’s the only way we know how. Some of us would rather be on a stage with a scripted scene at our disposal because our own words just won’t come out in confidence. Some of us would rather have stacks books and journals full of thoughts and poems that no one will ever read, but we’re fine with that.
Some of us have so much to say that there are no words we could possibly utter that will get our point across.
Maybe I can’t lead a discussion to your pleasing. Maybe I can’t debate with you. Maybe I can’t make eye contact without feeling uncomfortable. But you never asked what I can do. You will never know what I’m capable of because you only care about my faults.
You will never know the range of my voice when I spend hours singing in my car. You will never know how good I am at making things rhyme. And I’m awesome at it. You’ll never know the imagination I have that gives me the ability to hold thousands of stories in my head. You’ll never know the depth of my thoughts and the way I could sit for hours in a dark room creating things you wouldn’t believe. You’ll never know the way I analyze song lyrics and novels and lose myself in them. You will never know me. And you never cared to ask.