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jacqueline-jack-mabyPoems
I scrape away layers of my skin on my legs with tweezers, often until blood is drawn, trying to yank off the imperfections I feel, blistered and pocked with red scabs I will later pull off, a physical manifestation of what I want to do inside littered with imperfect feelings, thoughts, digging and shredding into perfectly smooth and pristine layers of emotions and ideas ripping up what is good into an incoherent mess trying to reach the dark spots underneath, I can’t see them, but I know they’re there lurking and waiting to come out to the surface the agitation rises if I can’t get something out,- I need to get something out, smalls whimpers of pain, hardly noticeable, until finally a deep exhale it’s over. Legs riddled with bleeding holes, aching but content, until tomorrow.
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May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
Pluck
I scrape away layers of my skin on my legs with tweezers, often until blood is drawn, trying to yank off the imperfections I feel, blistered and pocked with red scabs I will later pull off, a physical manifestation of what I want to do inside littered with imperfect feelings, thoughts, digging and shredding into perfectly smooth and pristine layers of emotions and ideas ripping up what is good into an incoherent mess trying to reach the dark spots underneath, I can’t see them, but I know they’re there lurking and waiting to come out to the surface the agitation rises if I can’t get something out,- I need to get something out, smalls whimpers of pain, hardly noticeable, until finally a deep exhale it’s over. Legs riddled with bleeding holes, aching but content, until tomorrow.
Written by
jacqueline-jack-maby
American
May 15, 2015
May 15, 2015 at 12:34 AM UTC
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