Warning: Diatribe/Rant
Let's assume that everyone understands the concept of the definition of terms that is necessary for proper communication. Especially in a language as vague and convoluted as english - where my definition of "beauty" is another's insanity, and their definition of "drop-dead-stunning" means nothing more than "painted and swathed in plastic" to me.
So let us define my bane of a word: CUTE. To you, mentally balanced and comfortable you, cute, is a pleasant whim, a fanciful injection of sweet and tangy.
To me, it is the only defense of the weak. Why are puppies and bear cubs so unbearably adorable? I'll give you three guesses. Same goes for mewling, soaked, and shit-stained babies. While I've got a soft spot for all of those - I don't happen to identify with them.
I am not cute. Sure, a pleasing slant of light and a certain wildness to my grin might impress that upon you, let us hope that is is a fleeting impression. When I reach out for you, I am angling for something more. Ever so much more.
High school, if it isn't already apparent, was a nest of torture and desperation for me. Fighting to find values that I could actually strive towards, when the only goals surrounding me in those not-very-hallowed halls were - you guess it - the achievement of ultimate cuteness. Girls would even talk in funny voices and turn up the corners of their lips, practicing in bathroom mirrors - to attain the level of cuteness that would catch some mindless jock-boy's attention.
If someone labelled you as "cute" - you were GOING places.
Unfortunately not the places I want to be. Ever.
I can do funny, I can do clever (though that may not be overwhelmingly apparent), I can definitely manage bitch. Not cute, though.
Beautiful, like Maria, yes - I could hope for that, for the grace with which the imbues the most mundane of things, reaching out with long fingers to wash dishes. There is a strength, and an understanding inherent there.
But cute? There is nothing there but weakness and emptiness for me. There is no nobility, no grandeur, no inkling of how hard I have fought for the kernel of monstrosity that is my battery-pack.
If one day I learn to be beautiful, it is because something shines through of that kernel. If one day I falter and give up and give in to American TV Values - then I will practice that grin and swath myself in flower-print dresses.
If that happens though, I don't suggest you waste your time with me.
So dearly beloveds, whilst I appreciate the crooning and the swooning and the gentle teasing, cute is still to sensitive a game to play with me. Awright?
Good. And I promise not to poke you in your sensitive spots either. Unless, of course, you want me to. grin