Perpetually Separate

The thing about being totally physically, sensually oriented is that no matter how close you get to someone, pressing your body desperately against theirs even, you're always alone.  The "me" that is understood when I say "My body" can not be touched by the hand of another.  A lovely tune, a harmonious chord, the smell of flowers or fresh rain... these things can touch me, move me to tears, bring a genuine smile to my lips.  But there's no companionship with a sheet of music; it's the musician's effort to let their emotions free that shakes me.  Can you ever really know if someone feels the same way as you?  Maybe some can reach that understanding through language or a look... but for me, blindly feeling my way around the world, it seems impossible.  Can two people ever really connect?

People say that flowers are delicate.  But I've watched them sprout and grow tall and stand alone solidly, beautifully their whole lives.  Are they weak because a human can so easily crush and ruin them?  Perhaps we're all the weaker for being unable to handle them without soiling them.  There are lots of kinds of strength, after all.  I get to thinking about how society has shaped our ideas of things, completely really...  This muscular man is strong, because that's what you've always been told strength is.  Then your own experiences expand on your understanding and create slight differences in each person's perception of the term.  But uniformity seems to be generally desirable.  And for despising it and being jealous of those who have it or pretend to or somehow fit in with the masses--!  I am different. 

And I'm glad, and I'm sad.

Someone like me

It's funny sometimes the way things work; you begin to ponder something and the world steps up to prove you wrong.  After spending hours wallowing in feelings of isolation and inability to connect at all with anyone,  a day or two later I'm sought out by a classmate whom I had quietly harbored respect for and invited to study over coffee.  We didn't go for coffee, but we talked.  We really talked, too. 
 I found in this person a fellow stuffed animal!  Only instead of whimpering confusedly about the loneliness, he sits above the pack-animal humans dipping down where he chooses and working them--  Honesty is important to me.  I try and act on my impulses when at all possible, because I see that as personal honesty.  I rarely lie.  So I have conflicting desires about putting on a facade or hiding away parts of myself.  But perhaps it's necessary for an adequate social identity in a world full of selfish stupid things.
Ahhh!  And then something truly amazing!! But I don't have time now.  

The Conceit of My Life: From the top shelf to the streets.

It gets lonely sometimes being a stuffed animal in a world full of humans.  Even the cutest of plushies is only intriguing for so long, and then becomes a decorative ornament, or something to recall memories from on occasion.  After all, when you can't communicate the same way as a human they will assume you can't talk at all.  Is there an apparent lack of cognition on my face, that people don't care to get to know me?  I look just like them--and I am at first taken for a human usually, I think, upon meeting someone new-- but somehow they can always tell that I'm not like them.  What part of my personality is the stuffing coming out of my seams and giving me away I wonder?  I do try to speak the same language as the people, and can sometimes exchange understanding with them on some level... Well, once I managed to ask what made the difference between me and other females, that I'm not of the long-term quality while others may be.  Know what they said?  That it's because I'm not fearless.
The understatement of the century!  I am practically made of fear.  !!!!! (maybe my fear is my stuffing, it certainly impairs my social skills...)  Ah, anyway.  we'll talk about fear another time.