a long walk off a short pier, or, how i discovered i could walk on water


what if no one held you for the first three months of your life. what if the back of your head was so flat from days and nights spent lying in a crib, with no one to cradle you, no one to hold you close and sing softly in the delicate shell of your ear. what if the artificial peppermint flavor from your first kiss never washed from your mouth and now every day you eat mint flavored steak and mint flavored bread and mint flavored dick. what if you had to take ten (sometimes eleven) pills a day just to convince yourself that you aren’t on the precipice of madness, that all that therapy and all that time spent in the hospitals was for your own good, so you wouldn’t hurt yourself, they said.
what if you’re damaged. what if everybody is damaged. you can’t change what happened but you can change what’s going to happen. what if there were no boundaries, what if you spilled yourself out all over the place, holding your nerve endings up in case someone wanted to tease and twang them, what if you decide to stop replaying the past over and over again in your head and cut the reel of all the bad clips, what if you stood beneath this shock of sky and realized that you’ll never truly be okay, and you’re okay with that. what if you lived your life as more than just a metaphor. what if nothing happened for a reason and that was reason enough. what if you were stronger than they said.

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