Enough

Stride by sivel120001 via DeviantArt.com
Stride by sivel120001 via DeviantArt.com

(Originally posted November 2014)

My fingers press against the cold glass causing the area just around them to fog from my warmth. I’d love to break this glass that tells me I’m not pretty enough, sexy enough, skinny enough… I’d love to break it and cut away this disgusting flesh that makes me feel like I’m not enough. I’d love to bleed away all these feelings of hatred and disgust. I’d like to feel the pain of that instead of the useless pain of self abhorrence.

I stare hard at that bitch who screams inside my head that I’m ugly and useless. I can’t stand her voice, it feels like a hammer breaking bones inside my skull. I can’t listen to her for another single minute.

I press harder on the glass and focus every ounce of my magic on those points of contact. I know I might break the mirror, but the sound of that might be welcome compared to the hurtful abuse going on inside my skull. I push harder and harder until I suddenly begin to feel my fingers permeating the membrane of this plane.

My reflection sees and laughs, taking on that awful voice. “Whatcha gonna do, baby doll? Do you think you can come through here and shut me up? God, you are dense.”

I wonder if I’m strong enough. Can I truly breech reality? Can I go through this glass? Is this possible?

Her abuse begins anew, from the other side of that force field, and I don’t even care if this is insane and I’ve had some sort of mental break. I am going to shut her up. I am going to make her stop or I’m going to kill her.

My arm slips in and she backs up, laughing harder until my grip finds her wrist and I pull, hard.

Her face slams into the glass, and I find this incredibly amusing, since my arm is literally reaching through this completely impermeable surface. I do it again twice, giggling at the shock in her expression. She tries to yank her hand from my grasp, but only succeeds in pulling me further in. I lift my other hand to brace myself from smacking my own face on the glass, but then those fingers begin to slip through the surface as well.

I yank her toward me again, and punch her hard in the face. She bounces back, but not out of my grip, and blood begins to gush from her nose. It was a surprisingly square hit, given the awkwardness of this fight, but I do it again before she recovers her wit and starts to fight me.

She captures both of my hands and yanks me into the glass, but it is not solid for me, and my upper body slips into the reflection as if it were another room.

At this point, I realize I am clearly crazy and decide to just pummel that wicked whore to death on the other side. As I lunge toward her, she lands a good punch to my throat, knocking the wind out of me, and I fall back into my own bathroom, wheezing and lifting my bloody hand to my throat. I can smell the acrid tinge and wonder for a moment if this might actually be real. Am I fighting the bitch in the mirror.

I stand and stare at her, blood pouring from her broken nose down her chin onto my favorite blouse. “You’re ruining my shirt.”

The shock in her eyes is disarming, as she stares at my chest, and when I look down, it is clear why. I am bleeding too, and I reach up to feel my own broken nose, even though she never landed a punch anywhere but my neck. Realization dawns on us both, as she too is holding her own throat and wheezing. If we fight each other long enough, I will rip apart.

I stand and wonder if I could do that. Kill myself to silence the hate. Cause myself the greatest pain in order to end all pain.

I lean down against the vanity on my elbows and revel in the silence of her contemplating my ability to end my own life in order to end her. My blood drips into the sink but then suddenly stops, and as I stand upright and look at my reflection again, I see that nothing has happened. It wasn’t real. But one tiny drop of blood remains, on the edge of the sink, daunting me.

A reminder? I can beat myself senseless over the reflection in the mirror. I can beat myself to death, if I’m not careful.

I look again at the girl in that glass. A sight that normally fills me with ‘not enoughs’. Because I will forever be not pretty enough or sexy enough or thin enough or smart enough or sweet enough or good enough… This time, the girl I see is just enough.

Enough to keep me from pummeling myself to death.

That girl in the reflection, that girl who plenty of people DO think is enough… Maybe it’s time she accepted that perfection is unattainable. And that today, at least today, I am enough.

Saran Wrap

thin veil by desdainart via DeviantArt.com

time stretches over me
layer by layer
minute by hour
holding me down
shrinking tighter
until I cannot move
or even breathe
to force me to
marinate in
my own dark
sour thoughts
rotting alone
in this perpetual
incarceration
that vibrant girl
who once glowed
like a sunset
now dulled by
the wrinkled
plasticy film of
life
and obligation
how I wish
for the light to
return
for the embers
that might still
burn
somewhere beneath
the grips
of this
stagnation
to be found
fed by some
oxygenic breath
to grow into
that vivid
dancing
flame
which once lived
inside me
lost to a life
I’d longed
and bartered for
a good life
enviable and full
but
limiting
in it’s excess
if only I could
breach the
encasement
dry my mind
in the sun
soak up the
hours
and joys
breathe it in
like those around me
freed from the
Saran Wrap
by the sharp blade
of will
and determination
or the pleasant
absolution
of ignorance
if only I could be
freed
from me
just long enough
to breathe a
sigh of
relief

a day

Born from Ashes by Ketixrei
Born from Ashes by Ketixrei via DeviantArt.com

it burns
fierce and brilliant
scorching every surface
inside and out
engulfed completely
for eternity
or just a day
until it finally dims
falling
down
to a fine silken dust
with magic daring enough
to stand against
a storm
raging winds, torrential rain
the wicked clap of
fate’s thunder
shaking it into thin
hills and valleys
tributaries of God’s anger
opening in the cracks
filling with the dark rain
of days gone
but when the clouds part
something stirs from within
a thing born without
fear or pain
simply awakening
a fluttering that presses ashes
into wings
glowing like ropes of sunshine
lighting up
the dark
coaxing itself loose
free
to open it’s wings
in fluid breaths
sending death
to the wind
with a flurry of hopes
dreams
and
wonder
gone
but not without leaving
scars
behind

Slipping

image: this must be underwater love  by siibel via DeviantArt.com
this must be underwater love
by siibel via DeviantArt.com

I wondered if
you felt it too
that tidal moon
waning
leaving us both
bereft of the drink
that
stimulates and
sustains
you do your daily chores
keeping up the
pretense
the thirst
unabated
am I changing?
turning to vinegar
that honey wine
spoiled
by all of the
bitter pills
I force myself to swallow
each day
perhaps it is me
forever changing
my heart
and my head
never quite in sync
but always
always
always
seeking something
to settle upon
searching for something
to give me
purpose
to keep me from
slipping
deeper
into the blackened acid
of my death
I am a fixer
embroidered deep
upon my soul
but I cannot fix
what I cannot reach
have I spiraled too far?
can the sun save the moon?
with only minutes
to gaze at her
every night?
No.
the moon must save
herself
don’t let me pull you in
as I drown
in the angry dark
of forever