August 16, 2002
exposed before your unseeing eyes
I love the way it looks when it�s fresh. It�s so open and honest. My silent witness. My secret ally.. Then it starts to heal and that�s okay too because what�s left behind is a road map of my past. A storyteller. My own personal celtic bard. And if that fails, there�s always the promise of tomorrow because I won�t fool myself into thinking our time together is at an end.
You call it weakness, I call it personal liberation. You call it unattractive, I call it art. Do you think that's funny? The fact that I'm the curator of my very own museum of pain?
I don�t feel this way all the time. Please resist the urge to lecture me.
1:48 p.m.