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These are my innermost thoughts and ideas ... these compose a small piece of me.
Cold fingers run from spine to rib
A red line runs diagonally upward
Blistered.
As if clamp is applied
Breathing becomes difficult
If not impossible
Sting from old blisters and bubbles
Cold fingers run across the side of my face
Ear to chin
From where they can feel the prickles of peach fuzz
That a razor attempts to adjust
For maybe a better suit
Hands with hopefulness
warming fingers run through newly cut hair
Feeling there way through and through
Evenness that's pleasing to the touch
Adjusting the top to a suitable means
The fingers are please to feel the short "sideburns"
Warm fingers run down an attempted happy trail
Whatever the body could grow
There is only but a few long hairs sprouting out bellow the belly button.
Unevenly placed but enough to keep content
The fingers twirl at them as if playing with a young girls hair
One two three ... the fingers count the hairs
Now those warming fingers have reached the "bottom"
Under the boxer briefs bought last week
The palm itches for that cheap peace of plastic
But finds a newer more expensive piece of equipment
Smoother and softer to feel
Palms and fingers at play
Hot hands run the length of this body
They chastises themselves with a bar of soap
Feeling they are wrong for wanting
Wrong for being
Cold fingers touch face
And put themselves away
Bruises become more defined but breathing becomes easier. Along the side of my underarm is an even curve of old bruises mixed with new red marks soon to be bruises. My hair takes about ten minutes to fix on date nights when I try to do something new with it even though it's the same thing everytime. There's a body sized mirror that I cannot help but look at every time I go by. Everything negative I've ever heard about my body chases through my head and my body forces a sigh. Staying positive is not always easy and undoing 18 years of negative comments is impossible.
He sat me down one day and made me say ten things I liked about myself; it took a while. While those comments remained stained in red, I'm always in search for a more obnoxious colour to cover it. I lied when I listed the ten things, saying things I've heard other people say about me, not necessarily believing what I was telling him. Like my eyes, that's the only one I can ever think of. And always the translucent things, but dont necessarily know what.
Whenever I pass by a mirror, I always try to add to my list or what I believe I like about myself; I'm up to four things now.
I've become quite comfortable with myself but I'm always afraid of the discomfort of others. Which is yet another thing stained in red, embedded in my head, that others will always have some dissatisfaction with me because I'm too fat or I'm not manly enough, or my face isn't being very nice on particular days. But again I try to find something posative, a better more obnoxious colour, like yellow or pink.
I might not have the highest self-esteem, but it's something I'm working on, just another thing that's taking time.
ve climbed atop mountains and back down but was never so proud to pat myself on the back... Ive held my breath and counted backwards counting never really worked though. it was always in the back of my thoughts and the tips of my fingers that traced every outline of this body that I could never compensate for. Ive smashed every mirror and placed the shards high apon shelves as if one day i could glue them back together. My anger never stemmed from the body I was given or not given but from the feelings they told me to feel they, them, you. Ive hidden behind images of those I was supposed to emulate taken clippings from magazines and collaged them together on white poster board.. but I could never really hide behind frail bodies that were made up of water and white cardboard paper. Theres just too much of me still alive, still breathing. Ive flipped through channels swallowed pills and worked myself just so much to tell myself "you deserve this pain" through blonde and pale, through straight and narrow through biased "culture" and ways to improve your self esteem but never once improved my self esteem. pieces of glass are stuck to my feet now and I can only say I never saved all of these mirrors and ive walked heavier than I should've. My body has changed and My mind has changed. But its taken more than my mind to get me here now its taken more than the needle that goes inch deep I hope to one day understand the worth of my body the worth of my beauty. And one day I know I will. But what about every one else?
10.20.07
I could place my hands on your body
in the way I know you like
and still not have time
to recover those lost feelings
I know I have in there somewhere
and when you placed your hands on my hips
ground tight into the bone
my spine shivered
in a way
that freightened me
into thinking
that maybe I could love you
and maybe I could love this.
But fear and I are close enemies
and we keep in contact
like my skin and yours
colliding into blue
ocean
the place that we once dwelled
and found ourselves
floating
into blue
and dark blue.
and blue is really warmer than
they tell you
like black stones from fire
we never really knew how
they would burn our skin
but we never knew how love
would burn
our hearts
either.
and theres a place out there
that my mind
tends to wander
when it doesn't know
where else to go.
and I've tried to stop it
chained it down
buried it in sand
but it can escape
without explanation of why.
and fear creeps up on me again
and we have coffee.
and chat like we're old friends
but fear is only telling me
what I was afraid to know
all along.
I could never place my hands
in those spaces you've created
but I could create my own spaces
on your body
like you've created on mine
and brand my initials there
because there are no trees
nearby, to carve intials
and no hearts to throw arrows through
except mine.
and yours
and skin.
and fear.