Perfect

You come home and you're alone.
The hours you spent getting ready didn't matter

You want to destroy everything you added in your attempt to create this other version of you,
the one that's glamourous and perfect.

Yes, Perfect.

That's what your boyfriend who spent the night sticking his tongue down the throats of groupies who opened their mouths wide like baby birds accepting a worm from their mother tells you you are.

Perfect.

Perfection.

You realize this is a quality you don't possess and you hate yourself for it.

You rip off your hairpiece and take off your 6" heels. Your feet finally hit the ground and you're reminded of your diminutive stature. You're not the tall godess you pretend to be. You take your hand and wipe off the face you created but it's not enough.Inside you still feel dirty. There's a layer of shit that nothing can remove, yet still you try.

You get the idea that steel wool might do the trick. You plug up the tub and turn on the water, making it run at the hottest temperatute possible. You want to burn. You've been in your own hell all night, why not burn the flesh that makes you crave, that makes you need to be something and someone else, the skin you don't want to be in...

You scrape off the first layer of skin with the steel wool , but it's still not enough.
It's never enough until you bleed.
Only then are you clean.
Only then can you sleep.

But you are never at peace.

 

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