I’ve Lived
Ridgeline Review
Mackey Muller I’ve come to love my skin. It has proof that I’ve lived. Every stretchmark casts a glow like a crack of white lightning upon olive-skinned hills. Illuminating vanity in my soul and emerald eyes. Like silver roots stretching across my thighs that have helped my body to bloom, and to nurture my growing son. Every scar had a healing process that taught me lessons only the healing could. Marked with an intense sorrow and hopelessness of being no one’s own. Not a daughter, not a sister, not a friend, and not a lover. My slender scarred wrists prove that bright red blood no longer dries atop rusty razors and drips to a hideous laminate bathroom floor, while my mother sobs hopeful whims on the other side of a locked door. I diverted from such things and became whole again. Every split on the palms of my hands and the shins of my legs dug and scraped violently in my skin. Gravel roads and shards of glass have nothing on me. I’ve stayed wild and free. Every soft pigment my skin fades into light pink flushing through joyful cheeks warm to his touch. Powder blue veins embracing mine, golden eyes like a seven o’ clock sunset in Texas. Show me that my heart pumps blood through me and sends butterflies to fill my nervous belly.
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