My tongue (poem #166)

My tongue feels a little too big for my mouth today,
So I slip my tongue ring out
Look at the hole that is there…
and wonder if it reflex the hole in my heart from when I got it.
I don’t get my piercings because I hated myself I got them to feel unique.
Needles made me feel more important and like myself in my own skin that I ever could. It’s sad to say that I had to add artwork to porcelain to feel like the beautiful girl I was born as.
When I asked I admit I had an eating disorder,
before brushing over the fact that before includes yesterday.
I starve myself not for attention but to feel accepted in my own skin.
I don’t feel welcome in my body,
the stretch marks are pinpoints of foreign lands.
I’m just trying to navigate in a world with the map of my body,
but my compass is upside down.
I forgot how to read directions when they started with “10 easy steps to…”,
cosmopolitan gave me guides on how to get lost,
men claim to have found me,
but I’m still standing here stranded in the branches of my rib-cage.
I’ve told myself enough times that being lost is ok,
it just means you haven’t reach your destination,
but I still feel like the little girl who put on makeup too soon so she wouldn’t recognize the flaws she once saw as constellations.
I don’t hide behind my body, I hide in it,
I put jewelry and art out as a gallery to distract you from the cracks in the walls.
When asked if I know that I am beautiful,
I respond does beauty start with starvation and end with pain because if so I have felt beautiful for year,
but if it doesn’t please leave me alone because i don’t want to find out what beautiful means anymore because I know I wouldn’t recognize it.
My tongue feels too big for my mouth today,
so I slide the metal between my teeth to feel whole again.
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Porcelain Skin (Poem #150)

Daddy doesn’t like the piercings,

Says I am telling young men that I will do things,

That I am making an image I don’t understand of myself,

He doesn’t like the tattoos,

Says I will regret the ink,

That I am ruining my beauty…

Daddy you don’t understand,

The innocent beauty you are holding on to was taken from me at thirteen,

The metal doesn’t take away my ability to consent,

and by you stating that I am making an image of myself you made and excuse for the man you claimed you would kill when I told you what he did to me,

Daddy you hate the idea of someone’s hands touching me,

but you never asked what I wanted.

Daddy you don’t see that I use the ink and needles to replace the blade of a knife,

that I would rather make something beautiful out of the pain.

And daddy I thought you would be proud of me

because it is easier to explain a tattooed and pierced daughter

than one with scares and blood running down her arms.

Daddy why can’t you see past the ink and the metal,

Daddy let go of the little girl you think I am,

because I haven’t been a little girl for a long time,

Daddy why can’t you see that this is something much bigger than you will ever understand,

Daddy why can’t you accept ink stains on porcelain skin over blood stains on a broken heart?

 

Sometimes the nicest people you meet are covered in tattoos, while the most judgemental people you meet go to church on Sundays.: