Despite the large chandelier with four natural light bulbs, tongues of darkness lick at her, lustily attempting to devour the last traces of light squeezing between the cluttered dust particles on the bulbs’ surfaces. She sits on the hard, false-wood laminate, her back against the sandy wood footboard of her American-style bed. None of the bedrooms of her house have tatami mats or futons; in
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secrets
we think we hold them and keep them inside
but they hold us,
filling us with the dread of them,
the fear they will be discovered
but they are secrets
and they are hidden from us,
not from them, not the others
the others know
so it is us
the keepers of secrets
who are kept from the simple truth
the simple reality
that...
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What does it mean to live
in a world where everyone dies
where everyone is dying
daily
What does it mean to survive
in a life not worth living
where every moment hurts
deeply
What, I wonder, is suicide
when you finally live
and accept your true
identity
She frowned,
Eyes turned down
Shoulders collapsed
Soul bowed
"Nobody's perfect"
I never imagined
She as anything but
Perfectly imperfect
Somewhere between
Her best and my worst
With eyes moist
I recalled that
She was my first
The first I ever loved
And lost
And found again
In the lonely place
Called friend
"I still love you"
Yet alone again
In heart,
In my heart...
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I discovered Suicide Girls years ago, but I never joined the platform. I was reading an article about traditional versus alternative beauty standards, and I was taken in by the beauty that I saw on SG. The women looked like women I knew or had seen...or could see. They had freckles, stretch marks, tattoos, and blemishes, but not a single model looked "less than." In...
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