Kathleen Glaslow

Kathleen Glaslow

1 Kişi
He asks me, Did you take something? I tell him no and roll toward the wall. I lost something, I lost some things, I tell him. I keep losing things. I’m tired.
A girl’s life is the worst life in the world. A girl’s life is: you are born, you bleed, you burn.
Cutting is a fence you build upon your own body to keep people out but then you cry to be touched. But the fence is barbed. What then?
She looks around at us, her face settling into a gentle smile. She says, “Your job here is you. We are all here to get better, aren’t we?” Which means: we are all presently shit. But we knew that already.
Where do I put them, these dead ones, these live ones, these people who hover about me like ghosts?
The first time I ever cut myself, the best part was after: swabbing the wound with a cotton ball, carefully drying it, inspecting it, this way and that, cradling my arm protectively against my stomach. There, there. I cut because I can’t deal. It’s as simple as that. The world becomes an ocean, the ocean washes over me, the sound of water is deafening, the water drowns my heart, my panic becomes as large as planets. I need release, I need to hurt myself more than the world can hurt me, and then I can comfort myself. There, there.
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Kathleen Glaslow

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