my flesh is tattered. it is littered with bruises. scrapes and gashes decorate my body with the same glitz and gaudiness of a manufactured christmas tree. the same kind that we used to laugh at.
the kind of christmas tree that had a pattern in the ornaments. the obviously fake plastic tree coated in that fluffy white spray. the tacky, over the top christmas tree that stood in the display window of a mall in november, when we both decided it was too early for that.
it was always the wrong time.
whether it was ten minutes or ten years, it was never the right time.
i don’t have anything manufactured that reminds me of you. i don’t have anything that i can hold to make me think of the joy that you once brought me.
in unavoidable circumstances you are always there.
the petulance that i learned to ignore and overlook. the overwhelming sense of superiority that you made sure i was aware of.
when children argue over their favorite plaything at the park and one of them pushes the other. i see you.
i see the overworked teenagers in a coffee shop whose faces are hard pressed with the exhaustion of being talked down to for hours at a time. i don’t see you this time.
i see a mug on the third shelf from the top and it’s that one color that you passively mentioned looked good on me that one time three years ago.
i want to shatter that mug.
i want to shatter that mug because it’s that color and it’s not me. nothing else should be that color if you can’t see it.
because that mug may be that color,
but it will never bear the scratches and bruises that i do.
that mug isn’t bruised. it will never be bruised.
i don’t have manufactured things to hold and cherish the way i once did with you.
because even the smallest things have been tainted.
and as much as i will try to forget, to grow and move on,
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
kaledo-art
turnnoffyourmind
titsay
gummygunk
prguitarman
dededos
blakekathryn
