Tides

September 27, 2016 § Leave a comment

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I always think I’ve broken, I always bounce back. Each time though, I lose parts of myself. Porcelain chipping away. There’s that quote from someone about alcoholism, “it happened slowly, then suddenly.” And one day I’ll be gone.

I used to be given dolls, they were usually different ethnicities. Stereotypes. I don’t know what my obsession in collecting them was. I remember going to the Cracker Barrell, which for some reason, sold porcelain dolls, and collecting my allowance money for trips so I could buy them.

I am collected. An item on a shelf. Easily forgotten afterward. I walk streets, rain drops sprinkle down. I want to lay down on the concrete. My eyes jolt about, noting the faces around me. My eyes water, I touch my cheek, feel the skin start to change shape, fall away.

I scrape at the pavement with my stubs of nails. I want to pick up my pieces, puzzle myself into a human. There’s always the dream, anticipation of what could become of me, but I put it off. Master procrastinator. One day I will be perfect, pure, beautiful, successful. I want to be the dream of me. I am so horribly limited. I wear a mask, don’t acknowledge how poorly I think of myself and my abilities.

I eat the dirt on the pavement below me. My body shifts, feeling the grating against my ribs. And I love it. I am soft, malleable. The sidewalk scratches my cheek. It’s for me. It’s what I wanted.

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