June 20th, 2008

It's strange indeed, the human mind's ability to cope in the face of consistent frustration. As Glen put it, we are like machines, and my mine is no good. Once oiled, polished by a year and a half of Wednesday therapy, is now torn asunder, laying in pieces throughout portions of me: in my room, in my bath tub, on the lawn of Ashley Pond and in my bed. I am scattered, and every place I think to look to recollect my sordid pieces, I find a part of myself that I wish I couldn't see.

I am invisible, my emotions, my eyes and my skin of no consequence to the world at large. Despite my greatest wishes, pleadings and urges, the bombs will still fly, minorities will still be forced to fight for their rights, the man without a voice will be brutalized and misunderstood, and I will still be small, open, and ultimately alone. There is no cure for that. There is no switch to flip that I may not feel the hopelessness of my misfortune. I have no button that will force these thoughts and memories from me, and I will always remember what love (or, rather, love in it's smallest, most saturated of forms) has left me in its wake.

My fingers were soft, brittle, easily broken, but I thickened. With each shout, with each argument and each brutal exchange my bones hardened and my smiles were less and less frequent. My voice, once so wondrous a visitor, is now hardly a visitor at all, but a stranger in your presence. I am bullet proof, my emotional shield untainted, flawless and stainless steel. I am, without a doubt, your adversary, but I am afraid. Easily bruised, I was a woman without restraint. I ran until I bled and I was gifted with the knowledge in this, in my pain, that in some form or another I was still a human being. Now, I feel only the incessant lack of me. I cry only because I should, I ache and I shout because these are the motions, and I fuck because in the darkness, in the shadows where a sweaty palm meets mine, I am of use to you.

I have no more reason to love. This carbon shell that has grown around my heart constricts me, and I am no longer a slave of emotion. I am your slave, your thing.

My body is nothing without your touch. My body is nothing without your fists.