I am twenty leagues beneath the sea and everyone else is at the surface. You, also, would think I come from the sea. You would think me a sea creature, snarling and alive. Like the Barracuda, I am sleek and silver finned, but when I ascend, I become human again.
In this town, I am rarely seen and there is a reason for it. I live in a place so unaccepting of difference that at times I feel I must go into hiding, for when I walk past most people, they do a double take. They always have to have a second glance at my hair, my manner of dress.
My individuality leaves me open to attack. Not a day goes by where I do not receive remarks, hisses, or scowls. I want to say to these people “I was born-again in New England, but I speak your language as well. I was raised on Spanish customs”.
There are problems with being feral and intelligent. Most friends can’t hold a match to the intellect. Other of my friends smell money, money, money, money. With most people I question whether they really love me, or are merely in love with the idea of me. There always arises mystique and buzz around the person. Gossip about the ghost.
At the end of the day, one has to change their mind about what animal they are. I am not a barracuda. I am an angler fish not lighting to survive. If I donned my brilliance, I would be crushed.