It's so hard to feel softness now. This armor is real, and hard, and so heavy sometimes. I can recognize and see the unhealthy beliefs. That romantic love is a myth. That I can reclaim power and control in my life by giving up what is intimate, and delicate, and raw in crude and sloppy ways. Much better to throw it out before someone tries to take it first. That I can disconnect from what is light and begging to feel inside of me. That the only way to feel alive is to degrade what is sacred and innocent inside of me before someone else can again. That none of the pain counts or touches me if I somehow make it all my fault.
If I throw myself at what is ugly and dirty and dark -- rub the mud on my face -- the world will know how dirty and broken I am.
But there is also hope. This tiny ember deep in my stomach that I am going to be ok. This won't last forever. I am a fucking alchemist and will turn this tarnished armor into gold. That I am not alone. That everyone is broken and ugly sometimes, but there is something clear and wanting inside of us. Begging to be released. Something the mud can never touch.
Yellow:
Never has it felt so harsh,
Distorting the night --
False.
Yellow:
Cigarette stained teeth,
Fading bruises --
Marked.
Yellow:
Hot shame burning my skin,
Sharp and rough --
Pain.
Yellow:
Where is my canary now?
Where is your song?
Betrayed.
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