Heart blistered,
savagely picked apart
by the buzzards that covertly
portrayed your love
in this tragedy.
Puncture wounds
peppered among the blisters
in the hundreds maybe
made by claws
of betrayal.
Silence invades empty spaces
as my brain screams
profanity
ugliness
pain
I wish you no harm.
It is me
I wish to tear down,
piece by piece,
total deconstruction
until there is nothing,
and I become
invisible.
Locked in the bathroom
I fight with my
demons.
I avoid the mirror.
I curl up in the corner,
fucking up the
feng shui.
The tears come now,
hot and salty,
they run like
angry little streams,
down my cheeks,
streaking my onyx eye liner.
Sobs
Hiccups
Sniffles
I peel off
my black sweater,
sitting in just my
polka dot bra
and ripped up jeans.
Eyes closed, I trace
the scars of prior
devastations:
slices
and
burns
My arms marked
more than that of a junkie.
I need release from
the intensity
of the pain.
The darkness I feel
a stark contrast
to my white skin.
I unwrap myself,
my long legs
now stretched out
in front of me on the cool tile,
like that of a giraffe,
you would say.
You.
Knowing what I
need to do,
I reach for my bag,
pulling it in to my lap,
as my ravaged heart
begins to pick up rhythm,
providing a soundtrack
for what is to come.
I feel around
my college text books,
that seem so
ridiculous right now,
feeling for the
familiar velvet.
My fingertips
brush across it,
and I feel a small
smile cross my lips,
even as the tears
still rest upon
my soiled cheeks.
I grab the red bag
and pull open
the draw strings,
spilling the
contents on to the floor.
Pens and markers
of all colors and sizes
reds and blues
pinks and purples
oranges and greens.
Each one
a character
in this production of healing.
I choose a teal blue pen,
removing the cap,
I bring the tip to the
soft skin of my left arm,
and begin to draw.
I draw circles of all sizes,
some solitary,
some touching
in clusters.
They remind me of bubbles.
I opt for pink
to fill in my circles,
carefully staying
within the lines,
my arm slowly filling
with beautiful color.
I do not see
any of my scars,
nor do I feel
the ache you
planted inside of me.
All I see and feel
is the magic of
the color,
all dancing
on my alabaster canvas.
About the Creator
Vanessa Jasek
I write words.
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