There’s a girl on my estate, a little bit chubby
And always on the field, playing football,
Normally on her own, in her own little world.
I find her annoying for no other reason
That she’s what I’d call a bit ‘sad’.
Her loneliness grates on me, and judging her weight
Is something that slides in my mind
Like marbles on a tray, there’s not much control,
I just think I’m bad, a core that is rotten
And I’m left wondering if there are others
That think they are kind, or cling to that thought
But inside their mind, they know there is something
Festering and black. Which is the real us?
The girl in this poem really exists and it makes me feel bad that I’m so cruel to her in my head. I smile at her as I jog past each day, but inside my head I’m tearing her to pieces and I’m left wondering what this really says about me?
I would never be mean like that, out loud, to anyone’s face; I want to be a good person. But sometimes these thoughts just roll into my mind, uninvited.
I’ve been spending some time thinking about why I might do this, and I’m left thinking it might be because she actually frightens me. Sometimes we see things in other people that we recognise in ourselves, and if that something is ugly or uncomfortable, it can be bloody terrifying.
What I’m saying is that I’m sure we all have those uninvited thoughts, but we probably need a bit more self love to overcome them, rather than beating ourselves up. I’m sticking to my core belief that I am a good person…
3 thoughts on “i’m probably not that nice a person”
I think you’re right, Rachel. We all have those thoughts at times, even as we try to be kind and compassionate. And it’s interesting how often that’s because we’ve been hurt ourselves, You have a point that we first need to be at peace with ourselves, before we can really reach out to others. I think it also helps to remember that when someone is rude to me, that isn’t likely about me; it’s about the other person’s pain.
It has taken me ages to understand that. I think teaching has taught me that it’s not about me. When a kid is mean to me I’m just a figure in front of them when they are hurting. They would be nasty to whoever was standing there.
It could be that your critique of her is, among other things, a jogger’s critique. Maybe most of us have an inner, appraising apparatus that turns on very quickly. I know I have it.