He asks me why I cut
Fingers lightly tread the battered remains of my now feeble wrists
A question I've answered a million times in my head
Desperately wanting someone to ask
As if my jumbled thoughts might sound better outside the contents of my skull
My explanation catches in my throat
A conversation a million times rehearsed rings silent
He waits.  
It is impossible to explain cutting to someone who has never purposely taken a blade to their own skin
Much like it is impossible to explain the addiction of a  ****** addict to someone who has never been high
It is an escape
It is taking back control of a world that spins far too fast for its own good.
And for many it is power,
Feeling so insignificant in this world
A pawn in the hands of fate on any normal occasion can dictate life or death with a razor in their hand.
It makes you feel something when you no longer feel anything
It is a tattoo marking every day you've been too weak to carry on but survived
They are tragically beautiful scars tracing our bodies
That most of us would rather die than give up.
All of these things make no sense to a normal person
But I am so far from normal.
But maybe my silence is enough to make him understand
This taboo isn't worth fretting over.

I come from a family of big women
Hips far too wide, tummies far too plump
Spirits way too large to fit into a normal size body.
Or at least that's what we've told ourselves for generations
We heard the comments, seen the stares
Skipped meals
Spent hours in the bathroom erasing any remnants of food from our system when we do eat.
My great grandmother took pride in her weight
She always felt that eating well could solve any heartache.
And most of the time it did.
A woman expanding not contracting
A woman with a beautiful soul and the biggest heart I have ever seen.
My grandmother spent years in the kitchen
Trailing after her mother learning her ways
Picking up old habits her mother would leave behind,
Like spending hours doing good for others,
Wearing sloppy clothes just because you no longer care,
Worrying about things that weren’t artificial,
And loving yourself for who you are.
She learned that the only way to a mans heart for a big woman is through his stomach.
She learned how to cook like a professional and married a thin man at the age of 15.
Was pregnant at sixteen,
And she began to grow out,
Making space in her body for the new life it contained,
She would find soon enough that as soon as you're big you become Harder to love.
And when he left her, she began shrinking,
Slowly trying to let the space around her be consumed by lovers.
My mother, after years of bullying.
Threw away the habits passed down from one generation to the next like second hand clothing and taught me her own.
Diet pills and counting calories are the only way to get a good man.
We find ourselves weaning even when the moon is waxing
Waistlines shrinking ever so slowly
And I know I have a long way to go before I am lovable.
We’ve learned to love the superficial,
Waking up at four AM just to have curled hair, makeup flawlessly applied, clothes always ironed.
We learned that our worth is determined by our waistline not our IQ’s
Our compassion,
Our spirits,
Or our hearts.

How do you look at the person you've loved for so long and force yourself to walk away?
Push yourself to forget every laugh,
Every kiss,
Every touch,
Every longing glance.
Watch them fall in love with someone else:
Someone more beautiful,
Someone more talented,
Their soul mate
And wonder why it couldn't have been you.
Why you were simply not good enough.
And remind yourself that you let them go,
That this could be you.
But you were too insecure,
Too stupid,
Too selfless.
How do you convince yourself that you did the right thing when every night you are up until two in the morning screaming their name?
When you don't want to wake up because in your dreams they're still yours.
When their name burns like hard liquor at two in the morning
But makes your stomach feels so warm,
Pain can be mistaken for love.
How do you convince yourself that they are better off?
When you are completely miserable without them.
When you still crave their touch,
See the smile on their face and know that you are not the one behind it.
That you will never be the reason again.
How do you act like strangers?
Pretend that you didn't spend hours in his arms planning out your future.
Forget how much it hurts to think of when he promised you forever.
How do you live with the epiphany that
Love doesn't last forever.

They say that the eyes are the windows to the soul
His eyes are the windows into mine
Through his eyes I see every flaw
Every mistake
I see myself at my worst:
Screaming at 2 am,
my terrible need for companionship,
the depression that consumes me,
I see my greed, my jealousy, my fear,
how I wake up in the morning.
Through his eyes I am able to accept the fact that I am not perfect
That I will never be perfect.
That there is no need to be perfect.
I see my pure heart, my desire to give, my compassion, my strength.
With him, for the first time in years, I almost felt human.
Normal.
I feel right.
Strong.
Willing to fight for myself.
His eyes, greener than the grass in the middle of spring, grayer than the skies on a cloudy day, act as mirrors pouring back into me.
The hope I’d  long since forgotten existed within me.
Long before I knew of his name.
I can get lost in them.
He reminds me not to stare too long
Forces me to turn away
I didn't want to look away
He’s hypnotizing.
Many long before myself have seen themselves through his eyes.
Bitter, cold, jealous, mean,
They go insane.
I wonder if they didn't like what they saw.
But in his eyes is where I found me.

His hands were always gentle

Never moved too fast

Never made me uncomfortable

Never hurt me

His hands could also be strong

He held me as I wept

Wiped the tears away

Wiped the bad away

Wiped the world away.

He fought of advances of others set to destroy me.

He had done everything he could to save me.

With his hands he fought off swords, knives, guns.

He protected me.

His hands me at my worst.

His hands held me at my best.

His hands never let me fall, they fit perfectly in mine.

With him time speeds up and slows down

Time is irrelevant when he is around.

I could spend eternity wrapped in his arms, lost in conversation.

His hands have held those before me.

His hands have held the woman he loved as she took her last breath.

His hands made sure he’d never loose me.

His hands held me as if I was a novelty,

a precious jewel that he could not afford to lose.

He kept me close.

His hands know how to slow down my heartbeat or speed it up.

His hands know scars,

Know bruises,

Know causes,

Know triggers,
Know pain.

When the bond is severed
Everything goes numb
The passion, the romance, the lust
It all goes away
The connection is bound to be lost for good.
Right now it feels like being kissed by heaven
It feels like dancing moonbeams o the river through the perfect night in the arms of the person you love.
It’s first kisses, first dates, first loves.
I swear or heartbeats were in perfect sync.
When he’s happy, I am happy.
When he’s sad, I’m sad.
When he needs to cry, we hold each other.
Memories so vivid as if they happened just the moment before
They will fade, slowly at first until they are gone forever.
I will not remember this electricity that runs through his touch
I will not remember our first kiss...it’s already fading
I will not remember our first dance in the moonlight locked in his eyes
I want to remember what it feels like to be loved one last time.
One last memory to hold onto.
Please. Before the bond is broken.