Pt. 1 Alone, and scars to prove it

Why can’t you be alone?

A stranger’s comment flung at my face.

Of course I can, fuck off.

I,

I have built my life, alone.

Pushed through pain, alone.

The very reason I am who I am,

is because I became her, alone.

I was taught that the only one who would always be there was me.

I taught myself, maybe.

I latched on to me,

to me,

and my hollow trust.

The trust that kept me alive but was nothing more than a tower of wooden popsicle sticks glued together by sticky tape.

It’s all I had.

It’s all kids have.

Without trust you have nothing,

Is what my 18-year old self kept repeating.

Without trust you have nothing.

So she inked the words onto her rib cage,

to turn nothing into something.

Maybe it’s the closest she could get to her heart.

A stranger engraving onto tender skin what she was so desperate to feel.

But couldn’t.

Not really.

Who wouldn’t start chasing it through pain?

To be reminded that they are alive.

Alive, at least.

Alone, too.

Sure whatever.

Alone is fine, it’s the only way.

It’s the only way to feel and avoid feeling.

So you can’t be alone, huh?

The question still stings.

How dare you?

How dare you question my popsicle tower?

How dare you peek into my soul?

Of course I can.

I have scars to prove it.

I just,

I just don’t want to.

Anymore.