Hand your power over to someone who’s not You and watch what happens.
My leather bears a new brand.
I did refuse the acceptance of blade cuts and needles into my skin…at first. The screaming truth spilling in, settling. Lava beds that I could do nothing but wait for, to cool into scarring. How much can you do tied up except waiting for your sentence?
In the life that I had imagined as my future, I would clear away the pain inked into my leather and become a Clear Canvas. But as months passed and I got accustomed to my position — back open, wounded and gradually scarring, knees and tied wrists pressed into the soil — I resigned as you wanted me to. You want your bible finished and it would take every inch the remaining bare skin on my body before you let fo of me.
Each line an act of burial.
Of the love we never made.
