Bloody Mary
W/C & Warnings: 225; gender dysphoria, self-mutilation
Poem: You're trying to rip open the body we share, shred it apart with your ten dollar press on nails, just so you can be in control;
--
I had an itch on top of my skin, a physical thing to mirror the one underneath that I’d named after you.
I scratched at it, scratched away, a physical action to mirror the one I do daily to get the feel of you out of me.
Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch of nails on skin.
Now there’s blood underneath my fingernails, dark red, to mock the lipstick you wore before I locked you away from the sunlight.
Now there’s an open sore in my skin, sickly infected, to mock the mouth you painted so prettily before I shackled you up.
Click, thunk, click, thunk of the key in a lock.
We’re two people separated by only a name.
We’re separated, yet I’ve got you as an itch that I scratch; you’re left like a blood stain or an open wound.
We’re separated, yet you attack me like an incurable rash that makes me claw at my skin; I’m reminded of you by lipstick marks and the open wounds you left on people with your silver tongue.
We’re separated, yet no matter how much I claw and no matter how much the blood under my nails looks like the lipstick on your teeth, no matter how much the truth I tell hurts just as badly as the lies you spin, we will still be one whole.
Poem: You're trying to rip open the body we share, shred it apart with your ten dollar press on nails, just so you can be in control;
--
I had an itch on top of my skin, a physical thing to mirror the one underneath that I’d named after you.
I scratched at it, scratched away, a physical action to mirror the one I do daily to get the feel of you out of me.
Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch of nails on skin.
Now there’s blood underneath my fingernails, dark red, to mock the lipstick you wore before I locked you away from the sunlight.
Now there’s an open sore in my skin, sickly infected, to mock the mouth you painted so prettily before I shackled you up.
Click, thunk, click, thunk of the key in a lock.
We’re two people separated by only a name.
We’re separated, yet I’ve got you as an itch that I scratch; you’re left like a blood stain or an open wound.
We’re separated, yet you attack me like an incurable rash that makes me claw at my skin; I’m reminded of you by lipstick marks and the open wounds you left on people with your silver tongue.
We’re separated, yet no matter how much I claw and no matter how much the blood under my nails looks like the lipstick on your teeth, no matter how much the truth I tell hurts just as badly as the lies you spin, we will still be one whole.