You called me...

You called me precocious and suddenly, that was my favourite adjective to describe myself. I stripped off the filthy layers of compliments like ‘beautiful’, ‘gorgeous’, ‘lovely’ that soiled my ashen skin. I was not enclosed in the outline of my physical being and my mind hovered beyond captivity. 

You told me that your favourite word was ‘galaxies’ because they reminded you of chaos and I swear to god you were a cluster of so many. Surrounded by a halo of stars, residing in globular clusters, you were a site for star formation and sometimes I think, I was reborn in your spirals. 

I taught you to hold my hand in one hand and you learnt to hold my heart in the other and squeeze it so hard that it felt like the holocaust was happening inside me. Killing of the tiny masses inside me and gassing the chambers of my lungs felt like routine. 

When you brushed your lips against mine it felt like the demetor’s kiss that was awarded to the escapists from Azkaban but what you didn’t realize was that I was only escaping from the demons that had habituated to my body. 

You told me that  because of the engravings on my skin there wasn’t any skin left to love, that the mahogany colour of my scars was ugly but my love, that was the skin that needed loving.
When you painted my ribs a pale blue-black, they almost looked like van Gogh’s Starry Night and I swear I tried to force out words from my tiny voice box but it felt like my tongue had forgotten to roll itself in a way where I could pronounce a word that didn’t sound like your name. 

Each time I looked into your eyes I could see a fire blazing in them. It was only later that I realized that your eyes only mirrored the fire that was ignited in mine.
When you left,

I stopped holding hands because then in my mind, human skin was equivalent to lava. I vomited a little inside whenever I read the word galaxy. Galaxies took form when there was a deadly explosion. The word reminded you of chaos and it reminded me of collision. I didn’t call myself precocious anymore. I wrote ‘beautiful’, ‘gorgeous’ and ‘lovely’ on my arms and chest in black ink to remind myself every morning I woke up that I was restricted to superficiality. I gathered the chunks of my skin I’d scraped off to make myself capable of loving you and stuck them back together to make myself capable of loving me. 

~ I should rename my blog to pointless... because that is what it really is.. anyways..... ciao ~