Little Girl Looking in the mirror at what seems unrecognizable, changed, and no longer wilting. For my arms have been injected with ink, skin pricked by needles and poked with metal, a body that has outgrown its former shell yet, it was not out of pain nor punishment, but gentle nurture. The blind hatred that seeped its way in my mentality has been cut off, set to flame, and ripped from its root. I no longer believe the lies that Little Girl would feed my feeble brain, unknowing of the growth to come.
Marked The yellow sponge rubs itself harshly against my plate remanence of the night before crusted to its surface a blood-like splatter overshadows the pureness beneath I continue to scrub until pain finds its home in my fingers and knuckles causing a sadistic need to continue my endeavor and redeem what once was. Yet no matter how hard, or soft, or of gentle touch, there is no washing away what will always be a mark.
Seasons and Reasons My father has always told me for every season, there is a reason whether it be human, or career, or way of life, there is a reason. The timing of said reason is incalculable neither is the changing of leaves when they bleed into reds, oranges, and yellows. Or cold, as it creeps into the deepest corners of the world. When the sun embarks on its migration and days become shorter allowing for darkness to makes its home and snow to colonize what’s left. But, there is one prediction I can forecast for every season, you are my reason.
Dear Over-thinker, I have admiration for the way you make a home for hundreds of thoughts that never come to a halt and allow your head to believe them. You hear the words of others while hugging them so tightly to your heart it hurts. Their voices a harmonious tune that causes you to hypothesize horrendous outcomes for every moment you have, and hope each one is less likely than the last. Hours spent rehashing memories and rehearsing conversations, how do you do it, dear over-thinker? I simply want to pay homage to you by saying: You heed the details not all others would care to know and carry them so honorably while their heavy weight bears on your racing mind and haunts your soul. Yet, there is no need to harbor negativity toward your unforgiving mind, for we must learn to hold the words of others closer to our hearts, hear their tune, and think a little more.
