no, you're rubber and i'm glue...

Trapped within these walls of (scar)

tissue and pulsing contaminated fluid, I

scratch,

tear,

push myself out of this barely breathing corpse.

Repulsed by layers of obesity marinated

in rejection, disgusted by misshapen and stunted

limbs shriveled under cruel judgmental eyes, I

search rabidly for a voice disconnected from

these corroded lungs and these broken vocal

chords crushed with negativity and un-free speech.

My soul, rejecting her lot, seeking to build a more

“perfect” palace and take up residence, commands

starvation

and

purging – calls it growing pains because

beauty hurts.

I reach for a “self” outside of this decaying cadaver but

every

step

closer is derailed by tangents

questioning the existential possibility of this reality

to distract from the deep restrained pools of

unreleased tears that drown my soul as she

impatiently awaits her moment of escape from

this grotesque prison of flesh.

I lift my head long enough to learn that the source

of my decomposition is external; in my haste

I’ve somehow placed unwarranted blame and

punished an innocent bystander for

uncontrollable disfigurement.

I

burrow

deep into myself, denying any ties

to this broken and listless shell, forcing the limits of

how far one can hide. Misled by the uncommon

calm of this amniotic sac-like darkness, I relax and

explore the unspoken longings of my heart.