This patch on my skin
I don't quite know what it means.
I'm the girl who wakes up with scars in odd places
But I affixed this patch to my ribs.
Does it mean I'm sick?
Will it bring illness to me?
Does it mean I fight the unseen,
Or rather the seen-through-society's-filter way I see?
What is it doing to me, that I can't do myself?
I should do this without help.
Is it cheating death? Or is it worth it
To cheat death to win back life?
Who do I hope to win over with this bit of plastic?
Am I a child, presenting the bright pink sticker
To my friend, to the teacher, to show everyone
That I am the place to be, the one to be inside?
No one ever could get inside me
I tried so very hard to push away, to open up
But I run too slow to catch up to
My mind spins and pulls little fractals of emotion
And none of them add up to make sense
On a daily basis. It's too thick, my membrane
I can't even steal through it.
How can you hope to? Do you hope to?
So why this attempt? Will it prove
That I am stronger, better, more alive?
Will it hurt me? Am I afraid I will do more damage
To my should-be-greatful body or to my
Ineffectual, wavering mind? I don't feel it working.
I hate that word, placebo. My mind is too wary to fall
Into traps of the heart. I hate you, mirror heart.
Are you pink, too? Open me up, boys, see my sticker throb.
~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~
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