I had been eroded. Sliced up, minced and spat back out into the vacuum of the anonymous. I had stripped my skin away, as though I were peeling the thick hide of an orange. Yet, in exposing the vulnerable, fleshy underside, I hadn’t realised that the wounds we make, bled silent tears of invisible cries.
I had taken my voice and warped it, to sing a lullaby which contorted and ultimately thwarted the song I had been born with. I had taken my eyes and pierced them with holes so black, an abyss surrounded them, and a booming silence roared back at the raging ocean that spoke only of a lack.
A lack that gnawed at my invisible sides.
She had become a beautiful shade, melding with the facade, authentic, yes, real, perhaps,
yet still without a complete name.
It didn’t deny who I had become, she was still a valid part of the reverberating drum that pulsed within the cardiac soul, buried deep within the ossified bowl that had slowly wept into a disintegrating hole. It didn’t deny who I had become, but it ignored, white washed and clawed at who I had been.
Who was that little girl so raw and wild, untamed and agile, that ran on concrete and asphalt, her mouth wide like a slit of silvery moon, sliced up just for you? Where had she gone? Was she still locked away deep inside, tearing at the rind that had closed around her sides; a straight jacket of reserved formalities and polite smiles, of half-formed names that end on a consonants growl.
I would like to reintroduce her, if you don’t mind.
I think this body has grown strong enough to take the bastardised, and correct you, without pride or malice, but a quiet acknowledgement that who I am, is to be prized.
To become vulnerable and honest and whole once again, and let the sweet juice fill your insides,
so when you come over, you really see everything, from my side.