You might have seen me there once, looking like I was something you couldn’t quite name. That girl, she is so different from me. I was a child the way I put myself to her, older yet looking to her for reassurance. She didn’t want to pity me so she went away – not that I can see that. I have been swimming in the wine and the footprints of my father – would you call him that? – are marked all over my veins. You said I wanted to please so much, she said I was rigid. They don’t see me because I won’t le them – I won’t be all that I could be. Fear and self loathing and they wonder why they can’t get me to start from scratch. I am torn to shreds and I don’t know how to be seen. Born afraid, life afraid, death … is that how I will leave this world? Big eyes, big tears, big loss. No one could tell me I was special. I was loved intermittently. I don’t know how to fight. I did whatever those men wanted me to do. I took whatever they gave me to take. The lies I’ve told myself, those around me…they are visible to the naked eye. But she won’t look me in the eye anymore – she walked away, my flesh and my blood. I sit here, the painted, wishing I could remember, hoping to forget, closing my eyes, no longer watching them walk away. I sit here and wait for the bartender to pour me another. I grab another bottle on the way home.
(She will always wonder if her flesh and blood will always end up like the others…she sees nothing but death in those eyes, she is tired of saying goodbye)