Take a Deetour

"I write to find out what I think." - Joan Didion

Thursday, January 12, 2006

I May Not Know Much, But This Much I Know

I wear beautiful shoes that hurt my toes and rub my heels until bubbles appear on my skin.
Raw, painful bubbles appear.
Then I unbuckle my high-heels and poke at the extra puffs of skin.
Welts and bubbles pucker as I peel away until the exquisite pain bites into my conscience, protesting until I become acutely aware.
A raw, gaping hole remains to remind me of who I am, to remind me of my humanity.
I alternately pick and wince at it, to indulge my masochistic leanings.
I also pick at the delicate, sensitive skin on my lips. Peeling strips off, watching them as they dry, purple-brown, dry curls of dermis, enjoying the sharp streak of ouch as each curl departs from its origin.
Does your tongue hurt sometimes? Do the little dots of buds swell and scream?
Mine do.
Then I, like a biased teacher, single out each little bud of weakness and tweak it, prod it and scratch it with the nail of my index finger.
I soak up the blood with a pristine tissue, examining the crimson imprints - a beautiful, terrible pattern of myself.

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