She kissed your cheek and smiled widely,
the corners of her mouth almost touching her
impeccably tattooed eyebrows.
She was not what you had pictured
from the back and forth email conversations
on quotes and designs and sizes.
She asked you to take a seat as she went to
smoke a cigarette outside the shop with a coworker;
Anna was her name...with two jack russel terriers -
one of them is like a honey badger apparently.
It's funny how the mind remembers certain things...
the way the smoke on her tongue smelled as she leaned in
adding ink to her needle,
or the song she kept humming while you
bit your tongue and stared at the decorated ceiling.
But the pain of the needle depositing the
into your skin was welcome...
It was nothing compared to the internal turmoil you were
experiencing the past seven days.
It almost felt good...
Not adrenaline good, but like good that you were capable of
something besides sadness and anger.
In the Barcelona airport two days earlier, you made your appointment.
One on your hip, one on your foot
100 pound deposit. No problem.
You needed something to occupy your
from the pain it endured over your "holiday."
So much for a holiday...
Surprise! Your friend is a backstabbing *****
who "secretly" hates you and tried to
ditch you repeatedly.
The needle grazes your hipbone and you wince.
"You okay?" Tota coos in her Italian accent.
You nod, but you know you're not really okay...
You never were...probably never will be OKAY.
Your mind wanders...wishing you were home
and not in London, three thousand miles away from
the only people who seem to care.
"Done!" Tota exclaims.
You examine her work, smiling.
The first time you have smiled in days.
"Get ready...this one is gona hurt!" she says, half excited.
You don't care...nothing can hurt more than your heart...
Too bad that can't be tattooed...
You told me you wouldn't be happy.
Those words are engraved in my memory...
They were unnecessary
And they changed me.
I don't see the world in the same way.
I'm deeper in this never-ending abyss...
Deeper than I've been before.
Words are powerful.
They carry a weight greater than anything else.
They are hard to forget.
And they can be harder to remember correctly.
Your words hurt.
Like a bullet straight to the heart.
I keep finding it harder to breathe
And it's your fault.
I keep telling us both that it's not,
But there's no other explanation.
You created those words.
The words that tore me apart.
And no words can fix me.
I'm a broken mess.
Your words turned me into this.
I am cold, and alone, and empty.
I still love you,
But I blame you for everything.
And that's what continues to hurt the most.
Not so much the words,
But the weight they carry...
And how the person who expressed them,
Was the only one I could trust.
I just feel so alone in this big big world. Like there's me, surrounded by a puffy winter jacket 10 sizes too big. And I'm scrambling to envelop myself in it, but there's so much empty space. I'm being swallowed. By darkness and coldness and nothingness. And it's terrifying, yet there are so many exhilarating things in this life. But my mind is traveling too fast to absorb any of it or even pause briefly to observe the magnificence of what I have been given. I'm scared and I'm alone, and I'm scared THAT I'm alone. I say I love you far too often and much too quickly, but you never know which day will be your last. And that thought alone scares me, because I haven't done any of the things I want to do. I'm scared of life - not even the future - because it's such a beautiful thing that I have been blessed with but I find it so ******* painful. And it's exhausting.
The embrace of the warm water was welcome on the iciness of my flesh. My skin, pale and uninteresting, reflected what I felt inside: cold, bitter, and lacking life. I can't recall the length of time I spent sitting in the porcelain tub, its overwhelming and vast whiteness enveloping me. All I could hear was the metallic ring of the shower head pumping water onto my pathetic, limp body and the rattling of too many thoughts inside of my head. The only other thing I could manage to do was rinse the conditioner from my not-quite-long yet not-quite-short blonde hair, scrub my face and climb into the familiarity of my bed, towels and all.
I don't feel supported,
Or loved by your words.
Friends should make each other feel good, that's what we're here for.
I never hear "you're beautiful"
Or "you're perfect the way you are"
When I need it most,
When I'm struggling with my sense of self.
I don't need a pity party,
And I'm not an attention seeker,
But every now and then a nudge
Would mean the world
I'm not as strong as I like to think,
I'm very apt to break,
And I've become weaker
Without the love I need to grow.
I don't want to lose you,
That's the worst that I can fear,
I just want you to gently remind me
That you care.
you try to fit in
but then people tell you to stand out.
what are you supposed to do with that?
because when you do stand out,
people criticize you and tell you to fit in.
society is not okay with you.
but as long as you are okay with you,
everything will be alright.
For I have fallen
And cannot will the earth to
Return the feet
That it has swallowed
And rightfully belong to me.