Finally! My first publication of the year and it’s about my shitty heart-broken life. Is this what they call tragic-comedy?
You can read the piece at Unspoken Words Magazine here:Â
Some highlights:
I knew he would in fact, never call, despite promising to do so. Because they start out so nice, don’t they?Â
And stay nice for a while that I lose all my grounding and start believing that maybe there are nice people out there who mean what they say. People who don’t get bored after they see the cesarean scar and loose, melting skin that comes with this petite frame.
The microscopic mountain of scars that Frankenstein my skin. A woman doesn’t get to this age without having fought a war or two.Â
They feel empathy instead, when they feel the ribs jutting out of my skin. Instead of pride or might, at having conquered something so tiny. Like something they can check off their bucket list of things they have used up and decimated.Â