Look at me. Do I scare you? I’ve darkened my clothes, studded my belt, spiked my hair, branded my skin, all to transform my image- so unlike you. When I pass you in my car, I roll down the window to let out the smoke from my cigarette; I make a point to flick its ashes on the sidewalk that you stroll along. And did you hear the bitter music piercing from my radio? The aggressive drums, the complicated chords of the electric guitar, and the heavy base are, to me, like a sweet symphony. The noise teases your ears.
I have a metal hoop dangling from my right nostril, diagonal from the silver stud in my lower lip, and directly above the ring probing from the skin beside my eyebrow. I noticed you notice the colorful designs etched across my back, down my bicep, or otherwise peeping under my shorts. I held my own hand as the tattoo artist dragged the needle and dye through my skin. I have no apprehension of needles- not like you do. I know, by the purity of your skin, the thought of knife and flesh provokes a shiver down your spine.
The wide flare of my dark pants slug along the dirty ground like the bottom of my worn black sneakers with each stride I make. And as I lunge forward, you can hear the taunting jingle and clank of the chains snaked through the belt loops of my jeans. I notice your eyes follow the metal ropes like a pendulum, as they sway from my movement. The shirt I am wearing had been balled up on my bedroom floor just this morning. It does not cling to my body as yours does; the drab fabric covers me like a tent.
When we pass one another, my eyes become glued to the patterns of the tile lining the ground. You are observing my barring attire, uncomfortably. I caught you staring out of the corner of my eye. I detect your intimidated expression, your eyes running away from contact with mine.


Were you wondering what went wrong with me, my life story? It isn’t that far from yours, but I feel things. I collect my tragic memories; I bury them in my memory like a grave site, the headstones marked with the names of people like you. I want my outside image to parallel what was imprinted inside- my insides and outsides intermingled. Do I scare you as you once scared me?