Be you.

missing the feeling of

blade on skin.

tears and blood

down the drain

as i felt

finally a release,

a break in my mask

a semblance of peace

at long last.

years have passed,

i’ve grown and moved and

thought i learned to cope,

but really if i’m honest

i just learned growing up meant

the mask is a part of the gig

and if you try

you can’t fail,

if you commit

that’s it.

and now the storms

of my memories

are picking back up,

and that old mantra of

“whatever it takes,

at least i’m still alive”

sounds pretty compelling;

and lately, i’ve been missing

those pretty webs of white lines

where now sits a patch

of clean, seemingly empty

too-sensitive skin,

nothing left to validate

the storm i once weathered