Me, Undone

i want to adorn my hair with flowers. wear leopard tights. draw stars around my eyes. i’ll be that old lady, alright. the one with two different loafers, a rainbow bag fresh from the dumpster, and yellow knit gloves in the blazing summer heat. it wont matter what u think of me. for i will already have been thought of. having outsmarted u. out maneuvered u. outshone u in my existence.  my lover will be beside me. for she loved the core of me. beyond the tired flesh, crinkled scarf, and silver dust in my hair. and i will be my best self. for her. for you.  just wait.

When I turned 18, I tattooed truth on my ankle. It was a feeble attempt, I guess, to stave off darkness. A symbol etched into my flesh with blood and ink--a guidepost for salvation. I believed in truth so sincerely. I tucked it underneath my mattress-- folded it away in my sock drawer, even pinned it to the inside my bra when I walked the streets. But one fateful day, I awoke to find truth gone. It vanished into the maddening mid-Manhattan morning. I cried and pleaded for truth to come back to me. I searched behind doorways, in alleyways, and beds until finally, one day, I forgot what I was searching for. The forgetting was the blessing. If you've found truth then you are probably dead. I lived to tell. I never knew that life could be so sensual. Everyday I experience me...and you...and you. I live in murky thoughts, unbound by artificial boundaries. It is pain and pleasure, pouring down all over me. The path to truth is not on my ankle anymore, but on the soft spot of my inner thi...