Baby Soap

My toes were pruned from being in the water for too long. The bubles had become nothing more than whisps of white over the water, licking the the exposed parts of my body. They covered none of my imperfections, just slightly mask them.

Taking a deep breath and plugging my nose, I sunk my head below the water line. I did some of my best thinking underwater. I opened my eyes. It was like trying to see through saran wrap. My vision was blurred, but I could feel my hair branch out and float in the water. I looked up and counted the bubbles remaining on the surface. I think there were four.

Ideas about life and death penetrated my mind. Questions about why nothing is ever perfect. Wondering when things would get better the way you always told me they would. I was able to appreciate the promise you made me, but I was jealous of your content.

I lowered my elbows to the bottom of the tub and brought my head above the water. I held still for a moment and appreciated the solitude I found from the water and my Johnson's bedtime baby bath soap. It smelt like lavender. I decided to make lavender my favorite smell.

I sat up so my upper half was vulnerable to the cold air. I left the damn window open again. I stretched over to grab my razor and shaving cream. I sprayed the pink foam onto my leg and started doing my thing. Baths remind me of you. They remind me of the friendship we had. It was the closest one I had since L left. You were just like her. Your brown curly hair and freckles that kissed your nose. Your oversized brown eyes. Your fears and your hopes. Your sentiment. The way your promises began to sound like forever, and slowly dwindled to an empty, "we'll see."

That's when I cut my leg. The thought of deceived friendships always made my hands unsteady. I ran my palms over my smooth skin to make sure I didn't miss a spot. When I finished I slid my leg back into the warm water. I watched the blood dissolve into a cloud of red until it slowly vanish. I moved onto the next leg.

I ran the razor up my leg as I thought about the way you kissed me. How it was soft and polite. How you tucked your hand behind my neck. How you stopped and made me watch the movie I so adamantly chose. I wished I had done today different. I wished I hadn't let the circumstances at home affect my demeanor throughout the day. The pms got to me as regret swelled in my eyes. Stupid. So Stupid.

I stroked my leg once again to make sure I didn't miss a spot. I put down the razor and lowered my body below the warm water line. I rolled onto my stomach and rested my head against the cold porcelain tub. I inhaled a deep lavender scented breath, and exhaled all my rueful thoughts.

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie

I Make Everyone Proud But You

I can't sleep. Your repentant words echo throughout my head. 
"I've created something selfish and spoiled, something that I now regret." 

I'll be getting ready for a long day come the early morning rays of sunshine. I'll turn on my Christmas lights, open my blinds, feed my cat, make my bed, brush my teeth, pull my hair into a bun, get into my freezing cold car and leave for school. As I do my morning tasks, your words will haunt me. They will chase after my brain and remind me of everything I'm not. The problem is that you won't remember. You never remember.  Many hours after I leave, you will wake up from your sleep. You'll roll out of bed, take out your night guard, go pee and turn on the coffee. You'll mosey your way back to your bedroom and lay on your mattress. Maybe you'll think about our fight from tonight. Maybe it'll cross your mind that there was no end result. You taught me to never go to bed angry or upset with another living being. But here I am, laying in bed, waiting on you as you're probably waiting on me. 

I'm sorry for yelling. I'm sorry for being disrespectful. I'm sorry for being lazy. I'm sorry for being selfish. I'm sorry for disappointing you. I'm sorry for not being what you expected. I'm sorry for not being what you wanted. I'm sorry for becoming something you regret. I'm sorry for not being enough. 
It's never enough. 

"It's okay that you are the way you are though, it's my fault."

You can blame yourself for me turning out this way. That's fine. Blame yourself. Beat yourself up for the terrible human I've become. The bottom line isn't whose fault it is that I turned out this way, it's the fact that I've become something you're ashamed of. And that isn't anyone's fault but mine. It is me that is disappointing. It is me that is the regret. It is me that is selfish. It is me that is self seeking. It is me. It's me. Despite me being my own person, you seem to believe I've become a fuck-up because of you. If that's what you want to walk in, then by all means. Do it. 

Because I couldn't have possibly turned out to be this way because of my own thoughts, actions, desires, wants and needs. It couldn't possibly have to do with me continually overworking myself because I try to be enough for you and everyone else on this God forsaken planet, but never measure up to what I should. It definitely isn't the fact that I'm a candle that's been burnt from both ends. It is absolutely, 100%, undoubtedly because I want to make your life as miserable as possible. 

Yes. That must be it. 

But you don't have to be disappointed in me, hate me, or regret me. I already do all of that enough for the both of us. So stop wasting your time and realize that these not-so-sober arguments get us no where but deeper into this self hatred I'm already wallowing in. 

Yours until the goddamn pigs fly, 
Alessondra Marie