Lines crisscross her perfectly milky skin. Scarring it in ways my own body remembers. A patchwork of hate towards oneself. Her lovely skin, pink knees, pink nose. I hate those lines because I know the pain of them. I know what they represent, I know the moments of sorrow that lead one to hold the razor, or scissor, or knife. How you cry as you start but then this body takes that pain from you and you're somewhat at peace, acceptance, calmer. I hate them because I know some of them are new. I hate them because some of them might be from me. I hate them because I want to kiss her, and them, and if my lips could make them disappear, I’d kiss every single one. Every inch of her perfect body. Even the ones she’s hidden and tucked away. Even the ones in places you don’t want someone to kiss you or to ever find those lines. I hate them but I love her.
About the Creator
Acasia Tucker
A traveler, a people person, a writer, a coffee addict, Born to Be Loved. Currently: Colorado
Instagram:: @alittlemaebird
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.