The Liberator

There is nothing better than finally writing the story that has been caged in the mind, guarded by fears and clouding thoughts. Over the course of three cups of coffee and a chocolate cream pie, I felt the words boil in my gut and regurgitate on the paper. The best part? I haven’t over thought, I haven’t thought about anything that is happening, I have simply found a way to exist. I am numb in the way I want to be numb, finally without good or bad emotions.

My active mind has sent waves of electricity into my limbs, into my heart which beats faster and faster. I dread the crash when it all comes back to me, when reality sets in and suddenly the world no longer makes sense. But until then, I will let this euphoria settle over me, distract me from my own self.

I’ve cut myself so many times in the past two days. Some deep, some shallow, some look like scratches while others look like battle wounds. However they look, they will be the most devastating story I will write. Read my skin, see the ink stains and pencil scratches along the empty pages of this book, and you will never be the same again. Love me or love me not, I will always have the words etched into my skin forever. They will never leave me, they will never abandon me, they are so comforting. Every stroke, every mark reminds me of me. And thank God for that. Because while I cannot talk to you without looking weak, I show my strength in the way I carry myself, skin to sharp object, ink leaking, blood leaking, skin reshaping to fit the standards of my own subconscious.

I am strong and I am mighty.

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