I am a variation of self locked in self. I am an item of clothing thrown over a shoulder forgetfully- by need of want for normalcy. I am the unwanted smile on a face wrinkled in frowns- gestures unfamiliar always seem unnatural- I am forced. I am the fungus on your skin and I grow, fester, and bleed out your insecurities for the world to see. I make you known. And I leave you naked on the pavement, skin stretched and legs wide open revealing all your subtleties. I have made you forgetful of your past. Things you once knew you now know you have forgotten. I am that knowledge of inadequacy. I have traded your innocence, for it came out of a man driven by lust. I was his reason. I have raped you of a soft touch on skin, of a love of quiet places and contentment at home. I have left you battered and bruised thinking that everything is not enough.
What if I had never met you? Would you be the same?
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I have yet to know what I am searching for and what all words seem to mean.
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