I have been handled roughly and without patience. I began smooth and unblemished. I had a slight sheen even. I was no different than anyone else. I wasn’t better but I certainly wasn’t any worse.
Today I am a tight pile of sharp corners. My lines are blurred. I am edgeless. Edges matter. Knowing your edges means you know yourself. And knowing your edges means you know how to stretch and reach but when you don’t have yourself as a home base, you don’t know how to make things bigger. You’re a pile of sharp corners, poking everyone, poking yourself.
As I grow, I’ve grown angrier and angrier. I am growing down. People talk about growing up and finding inner peace. I hate those people. I want inner peace. I am constantly poking myself with sharp corners. I know how to be angry better than anything else. It’s my default emotion. And it is so ugly. It makes me ugly. And then I get angrier. I can’t step out of myself for longer than five minutes. I feel more stuck now than I did when I was stuck in an abusive home. I don’t know how to walk out of the door now that no one is here to punish me any longer. I’m still curled in a corner, scared for my life.
I want to start over. I want a new piece of paper. Every day of my life, I think all day long about a new piece of paper.