10/28/14/The Cutting
I missed this
The cutting
Holding the blade in one hand
And my skin taut with the other
Like watching the fat sliced from the side of beef
Slice and pull
Until the weight of the fat pulls it away
To splat on the floor
How deep do I cut before the weight of this world
Overcomes the bonds
And I fall away to the floor
A gift for the dogs

Not the wrists or arms though
That’s the first place they look
The insides of my ankles and calves
The tableau that lays flight
As I sit with legs crossed
Little blood with the bright red scoring
Just the exquisite pain
Of the repeated scratch
Invisible even to those who look
Just like me

Beautiful words fail me
As the pen and page have
So I carve one phrase
Into the deficient body
Not Good Enough
In the end
That is all there is
And all that I am

This poem seems apt today. I’m constantly reminded that my stuff doesn’t matter to anyone else. My possessions, my writings, my hobbies and even my preferences get shoved aside for everyone else’s stuff. When it hits me that I am spending all my energy doing things for them that they won’t do for themselves, not getting any thanks for it, and ending up with my possessions or plans ruined, it really hits me hard. I’m not cutting tonight, but I want to. I will always want to.