teaspooncircus
he holds out the cards and the mob glances at them, then back at him. he grins. there's one for each of you, he says, take one. the crowd doesn't move an inch. they know who he is. he's the man who distributes death.
they give me my choices. to win and be free to all. to win and be free to no one but me. or to be bound forever in my humiliating chains. there is no decision to be made. i will fight. i must fight.
they lash out, beaks poised in anger. their white, white wings beat against my face, blinding me. there is nothing but infuriated screeching and the blank vision of beauty.
he stands on top of the roof, searching for something--someone--down below. he doesn't even know what he's looking for. he'll know, they said. maybe he would've found whatever or whoever it is if it weren't for these stupid shades on his face. he has half a mind to throw them off the building, but he knows the consequences. he pushes them higher on the bridge of his nose.
there's a hole in my earlobe. mom says it's so i can be pretty. i don't know why i need a hole in my earlobe to be pretty. especially when my ears are so eager to close it back up again.
my fingers outline the bones beneath my skin, the crevasses of my ribs and the mountains of my spine. there is no flesh here, no meat--no place for nourishment in beauty.
writing since 2012 · 8 entries · 8 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means ji showed up.
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the words ji reaches for
whitelipsmorningdeepbeautywelcomeholeearlobeprettyfacewinfreefightpaleseldompink