I saw an Angel.
No, he wasn't abnormally beautiful with gorgeous blond locks, nor did his eyes shine as bright as the Caspian sea. He didn't have wings either, nor did he wear clothing adorned in white that shined brighter than the sun itself.
He was as plain as I was, perhaps even plainer. Though blond, his hair wasn't brilliant, in fact, it was dirty and matted. He wasn't the picture of perfection either, in fact, he was the opposite.
Pale and thin, dirty and uncared for, I saw him in the alley with a needle stuck in his arm.
A dose of heroine destroyed him, spoiled him...but I still saw an angel.
Perhaps it was the smile he gave me, when I gave him fifty cents go buy some cigarettes.
Perhaps it was the way his dull eyes looked at me, lost and distant....alone.
Perhaps it was the way they screamed, “I'm still human”.
I saw an Angel.
She stood at the corner of the street, striking a pose for all to see.
There in the Red Light District, beautiful and elaborated with make-up and jewelry, I didn't see a prostitute, nor did I see a slut.
I saw a person, just dirtied by the world, lost by society, and denied her rights.
And past the dirt and the grime, past the touches and the loveless caresses, I saw a human being.
Then I went home, and looked at my broken self.
Looked it right in the mirror.
Fat or thin.
Beautiful or ugly.
Young or Old.
Smart or Dumb.
Rich or Poor.
Girl or boy.
I looked into the mirror, my worst enemy, and smiled.
Because, when I looked a little harder, past the “slut” and the “whore” and the “player”, the “jock”, the “bitch” the “nerd”the “atheist” the “religious” the “emo” the “popular girl” I saw an angel.
I saw me.