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[mmarsonearthh]

INFSAIML

I am tired of being a woman. I am tired of these bones, of the flesh that does and does not hug my interior; of the thoughts, regrets, and feelings that are housed between aching muscle, vein, and ligament. They betray me by their presence and everlasting cling to my skeleton, they grip my conscience with white knuckles and splitting skin. They are persistent in their plague. There exists a second, third, fourth, entity housed within me. I hear the brutal whispers and incantations of the men in my life who have reduced me to bones, who have torn piece by piece of flesh and love from my frame, consuming it and questioning 'Where did the rest of it go?' With blood-stained teeth and fingernails, they asked, 'What have you done with it?' Digging slick, wet hands into my ribs and pulling at the bones, cracking them while looking me in the eyes their tongues questioned, 'Why do you do this to yourself?' Am I the only one to blame for crying out in pain following their torment? In fleeting moments they washed their hands but then pointed to mine and cried, ‘Look what you have done!’ as blood slipped through the slits between my fingers that covered the gaping holes in my body. 

I have given every piece of my body. It has been consumed and will be consumed until there is nothing left. They will stare at me, wiping their mouths off on their sleeves, and insist that I have done this to myself. I haven’t. 

I have nothing left to give. I have saved nothing. I have starved myself. I don't even have the ribs to show for it.