Satisfying
It’s satisfying
Red drops spilling onto white tile
Ruining the beautiful innocence of happiness I once had,
stains on the pristine floor of an expensive bathroom in an expensive house
It’s satisfying because it’s damage I did to myself
Because I’m supposed to be expensive too,
perfect, crystal clean white
But this time the red isn’t from ink marking an A+
It’s satisfying because the red on the floor I can clean
I mop it up with toilet paper, press a button and it’s gone down the drain
If no one ever sees, then was it even there at all?
It’s satisfying because it never leaves
Even if I mopped it all up, my skin will never be the same
The lines and marks and imperfections, I’m damaged now
Who wants damaged goods?
It’s no fun to thrift for a new child
It’s satisfying because it leaves me full
Full of shattered glass carving through my lungs
Because I can hear my heartbeat in the burning space the knife ran hours after I folded it closed
It’s satisfying because it leaves me empty
Like I’m caving into my chest cavity
Cold and dark and alone, no matter how hot and full the room
Most of all it’s satisfying because I can’t stop
Because after 8 months
8 months of yoga in the morning
8 months of tea and reading at night
8 months without touching a blade to my skin
I’m right back where I started.
Copyright © Ilaria Hobbs | Year Posted 2023
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