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.

Joie de Vivre

Sunrise in Ptuj by snupi2001 via DeviantArt.com
Sunrise in Ptuj by snupi2001 via DeviantArt.com

for a lifetime, comfort has been the best I could achieve

but here, and now, I wonder
is this joy?

the joy of life

is it real or a complicated fiction
frothing about in my brain?

inside my love tent, twinkling along with the lights
nestled against the solidity of your reality
dusted with all of my own words and wishes

the nano-angels battling for my sanity

is this a victory celebration?

right here
right now

I have the world at my fingertips

sunrise in all directions
a ravenous feast
warming my skin and lips
and feeding my
willfully
broken heart

but the sun will set eventually

the demons will assault me
again

forgive me
if I sometimes let them win

then remind me

that the sun always rises
even
in
the end.

Flower in my pocket

I slipped it in there to hide it from sticky fingers and perplexed glances. It was a greedy gesture, sure. But it’s not for them. 

It’s mine. 

It pokes through the fabric lining a few times, digging into the skin of my thigh. But it isn’t painful.

It’s a thrill. 

An injection of femininity. A sharp reminder of the girl I leave behind so often. A symbol of the self I long to set free. 

I reach into my pocket to feel it’s faceted petals and silvered leaves. I hold it in my hand, letting the buzz of touching something so fine, so sweet rush through to the deepest darkest places that need it so desperately. 

She stands about twenty feet away, a gorgeous girl, fingering a strand of beads and wearing a self satisfied grin. The kind I would wear, if I’d only chosen a dress, if I’d only worn the kitten heels, if is only slipped that flower in my hair. 

It’s me. 

As I glide it from my pocket, watching the light catch the pastel ovals to make glittery lights sprinkle across my skin, I stop thinking. 

I let it find its way into my hair, and the buzz turns into a high. Wings of sparkling daisies glinting in the sun of my imagination, lifting me and my mood, brightening the world all around. 

“Oh, how pretty!”

It’s only a barette. 

But sometimes, the little things are so much more. 

Dismissal

The midnight hour gleams with the polished hope of a wistful, wishful girl, gazing at stars that would trace the edges of her magic if they could reach her.

But the window is shut and the curtains drawn. The silly dreams of of an immature mind are dismissed by the must-do’s and not-now’s of responsible adults who know better.

A dismissal she will know many times over, even from those who make promises through vows to cherish and through fingertip kisses and even through toe curling bliss.

That loneliness is a requirement, it seems. A right of passage into the realm of grown ups. Where the glitter of the night sky holds only the magic of sleep and where the moon speaks to no one but the wolves.

But you know the secret, don’t you? The sky isn’t where the magic lies.

It’s not in the clouds or the stars or the moon…

It’s right inside each and every one of us.

And the magic in your heart can only be dismissed if you let it.

I refuse your dismissal, cruel world.

I throw back the defeat of your drapes to glimmer, shine and light up all the darkest corners of the universe, right alongside my stars.

There is no goodnight in that magic. There is no dismissing me.

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http://www.deviantart.com/art/Magic-114340437

I need you

Isolation by vpotemkin via DeviantArt.com
Isolation by vpotemkin via DeviantArt.com

Between breaths
When I am broken, raw, and spinning

Between smiles
When I am cut to the quick, not winning

Between moments
When I isolate to sort myself out

Between fixes
When all I want to do is stomp and shout

Between whimpers
When I am just too fucking much for the world

Between heartaches
When I wonder why I can’t just dance and twirl

Between arguments
When I fail to convey the right point

Between looks
When I watch myself disjoint

Between worlds
I am lost, introspective
That is when I need you
Without, I am simply defective.

My Ascent

Ascent by ntscha via DeviantArt.com
Ascent by ntscha via DeviantArt.com

“Can you see?”
“No. I am still lost.”
“Lost where, little girl?”
“In the depth of the ascent.”
“Ah, so you are rising. You found your fin…”
“I don’t know. I wonder if I am simply drowning in my destruction.”
“Don’t you see? You already have!”
“What do you mean?”
“You have drowned… in the depths of your feelings. But you just said it yourself. You are in the ascent. You shed your clumsy legs and formed a lovely tail to assist you in the rise.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“The woman you were is gone, but you are now something new, something perhaps better. You are being born from the destruction that was.”
“Better…”
“Yes, child. Stronger yet softer. Quicker yet more vigilant. Accessible yet careful… Full of care… for yourself.”
“Oh… I do think I love myself.”
“It seems so. Look at me. Who do you see?”
“Noone. Everyone.”
“Yes! The world is your ocean, everyone it can either swim with you, drag you back down, or help guide you up for air.”
“Is this a revelation?”
“Do you still feel lost?”
“Yes…”
“Then you still have work to do, little one. Keep swimming, keep searching.”
“I thought he had the answers, but there were only more questions. And they weighed me down.”
“I’ve told you, the answers are within you.”
“Will my faith return?”
“That is up to you. To your heart. And who you choose to anchor it to. ”
“You never mention them.”
“Should I? Is your family truly part of these questions?”
“No. They are the constant. There are no questions there.”
“Exactly, sweet girl. They are waiting, in a boat, on the surface.”
“Oh… They are the goal? They are my end?”
“There is no end. Life is nothing but a plethora of new beginnings. A journey filled with lessons and adventures. You know this… you learn this constantly. You may shed your tail tomorrow and grow wings! You may transform a dozen times before you reach the goal.”
“But they are the goal.”
“No.”
“Am I the goal?”
“Finally! Yes… It is your journey, after all.”
“My journey… My ascent…”

When darkness falls…

The gaping openness of the night is too much… often more than I can bear. Every thought spins like a saw blade inside my skull. Each wish pummels me with its impossibility. Each memory coats me in a thick layer of melancholy.

My heart lurches, doing it’s best to beat back the hollow emptiness. But it only echoes my despair, calling the nightmare to mimic all of my fears, in perfect, little horror movies that play behind my eyes.

I push myself constantly. If I were just a little better, a little more, a little extra… maybe I’d be enough. Enough to wash away the malaise.

But every high is followed by an aching low. Each wondrous moment where I believe in myself, in love, in family, in my world… Each one is drowned by an equal moment of doubt, longing, and sadness.

In the night, when I am the most alone… desperate for sleep but fearful of what awaits me there… fighting those wicked demons alone… I hope for things no one should hope for.

I wish for the impossible, but know I’ll never see it. I beg my dreams to cooperate, and let me just be content.

But the darkness has it’s own agenda. And it is often monstrous in its efforts to defeat me.

But then… the sun rises on a new day. The blackness lifts as the light fills me to the brim with hope and recovered will.

I know the world doesn’t really harbor secret messages that are just for me, that those are childish thoughts, remnants of my little being left all alone for too long…

But the magic in those moments, where I believe things are just for me or that a story indeed had some glimmering hidden meaning meant only for my heart…

That magic is mine alone.

So, tonight, when my beautiful sun sets, my lovely family sleeps, and darkness begins to beat on me again, I will find solace in magic. I will find hope instead of despair, and I will fight back against the night.

By embracing it. I will love it, in order to coax the fear from it…

When darkness falls, I will force that awful monster to see those hidden notes and I will use it’s mocking to make me strong.

Instead of allowing it to convince me of my worthlessness, I will use that magic to convince IT of my pulchritude.

I will be the fire, in the dark.

And if I ever succeed, and stop listening to the voice in my head who is not the real me…

The darkness will never hurt me again. And instead, I will heal it. I will make it brighter.

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