It’s in the details.

…The picture in my Gravatar is me. Do you see me? What exactly do you see? Do you see who I am? Do you see what I am?

Is it anything like I see myself?
Do you see a middle aged woman, with a bit of class, a loving, doting mother of 4 beautiful children? Happily married to her childhood sweetheart, content, yuppy-ish. A woman who loves Enya, bakes cookies from scratch, grows her own vegetables? How about a woman who adores craft fairs and church bazaars, who scrapbooks and makes adorable little toys for all the kids in her life? Can you see that I’m loyal and honest, I have a rabid “save the world” complex and I always put other’s well being into account before my own? Would you call me a “soccer mom”, with a heart of gold? Can you picture me reading romance novels and crying over The Notebook, surrounded by comfortable things, wearing pink fluffy slippers?

Would you look at me and think, “there’s a woman who can strip the engine of a car”? Can you tell I’ve had the swat team called on me and the chief of police did my bidding? Can you see that I would happily resort to physical violence if the cause was justified in my eyes? Can you see my tattoos? Can you tell how highly educated I am, without graduating highschool? Do you see me as someone who’s done battle with political figures and won? Does it show that I am an hereditary witch? Would you call me a cunt, loud-mouthed bitch, or holier-than thou? Can you see me shooting tequila sans salt and lemon? How do I look drywalling the kitchen, plumbing the bathroom or kicking the shit out of a crackhead on my front porch?

Do you know I’ve convinced priests to question their faith? Or that I serve ice cream for breakfast and think venison rocks? Would you believe I was a skin-headed punk? Does it show that I’m cocky and confident and know that there isn’t a thing in this world that I couldn’t do? Would it surprise you to see my ink-stained hands? Would you run into me at a Tool concert and wonder what the hell I was doing there? Or can you see I would take you down in a mosh pit anyplace, anytime? Can you tell I would give you the shirt off my back, and tailor it to fit you like a glove?

Do you know I have an answer for each side of the coin? That I’ve read Dante and Chaucer, Yutang and Tolle? Would you believe I can convince you the sky isn’t blue? Does it show I’m an artist who bakes loaves of bread?  Do I look like a woman who can take care of her own, or do I appear to burst into tears at the drop of a hat? Can you see I’ll always give you the benefit of the doubt, but I’ll manipulate you fully for my own personal gain?

Do you see me as I am, or as somebody else?


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