I’m thinking without pain, none of this would be possible. My wildest words, null and void. I’m thinking without pain how taut my skin would be, stretched and see-through, veined.
Indentations of my insides flashing, rising like my mother’s blood pressure. And Sandy’s tides. A throb. A clue. Something is amiss. But it’s ok my dear, for it ties me to you.
Take your tender hands, push all the way through. It is a curse, perhaps a blessing, depending what side you loiter on. Whatever the case, it is mine, and ours, to view. Was always meant to be. It is how we show, or bellies grow. I will disrobe and undress for you, let you trace the scars. Because something in me always knew that these ribbons weren't just mine, but rather, ours.
These bridges of scars; they are one body written in the stars.
You, coursing through these veins. My seemingly red blood, pumping through. I used to think without pain I could somehow be better present. I could clap and stand ovations. Oh dear Lord, the things I would do. Now I see, how incredibly untrue. I know now without pain, there'd be no you in me. There’d be no me in you.