The words flutter out of your mouth and burn themselves into my back, scarring me forever with the feeling of kindness.
I want to write you messages
on small pieces of paper
and put them in the corners
of the advertisements on the A train
in the hopes that you will see them
and recognize my handwriting
and think of me.
The stretch marks on my thighs prove that I am a descendant of the mermaids and the gods.
They shine and appear light on my skin like how the sunlight dances on the top of the water.
They are signs that my body has endured and will continue to survive as the world moves on.
They weave across my skin like the beginning of a beautiful tapestry that will only become complete in time.
Learning to love myself again is hard, but my naked body is slowly becoming mine again.
The stretch marks are art on my skin, my own natural tattoos.
Let them show.
The world is silent but my thoughts are so loud.
My body aches from being forced to be still.
My hair is greasy.
From day to day I fluctuate in everything.
Forcing myself to present an image to others so I can be left in solitude.
I long to run, to be wild, to escape. To push myself until I can’t breathe and my body heaves and I feel more accomplished in a few moments than I have in months.
I want to go to the beach. Lay in the sand, let the waves crash on the shore and soothe my mind and soul.
I want my creativity to come back.
I want to love.
I want to embroider my skin with words that will heal me.
I feel this pang in my chest
and a flush in my cheeks-
the words come tumbling out,
and I thought you wouldn't believe
the prophecies that I was telling.
My mind is jostled, the connection obscure-
the distance between reality and fantasy
is only ever growing.
It might be insanity but wait-
is it reality?
There is no grounds for a rebuttal
you can't stop the flow of time,
the way my thoughts are flowing are
coming out in intrinsic designs-
But why can't I ever put myself together
when the moment counts,
display a truth and honesty
that would never be the death of me-
but would rather give respect to me-
asserting my own philosophies?
I don't even know how to tell this story,
my thoughts are overwhelming
and is there a cure-
I'm not sure.
Two weeks [redacted] you.
I think I said that out of anger-
but I don’t think you could blame me-
or maybe you do-
because I know now how it feels-
to have spent two weeks [redacted] you.
I can’t even say the words because
I don’t want anyone to judge me-
rather that’s the last thing I need-
as while I was [redacted] you I wasn’t
I was mean.
I was harsh.
If that’s what [redacted] you was-
then well, maybe I’m better off.
I did [redacted] you. I think I have for a while-
and people say that to [redacted] someone else you have to [redacted]
yourself but that’s not true because I hated myself when I [redacted]
I thought everything I did was wrong-
I said this-
I did that-
did you think I meant that-
and even if you understood what you think I said-
could you tell that I [redacted] the idea of being with you like that?
Why can’t I [redacted] the idea of [redacted] myself the way that I so
desperately wanted to [redacted] you