i had to drive all those miles to look myself in the mirror beneath a blotchy fluorescent light, as i sat on a polyester hotel bed quilt, and saw a face i wanted to forget, a person i've tried to bury who will probably be more present more often in the days to come.
not the person i've built, the person i've held up to you, not the face i've chosen, but the face beneath the face that twists out from beneath my facade.
she is young and her eyes are burning with discontent.
she is insatiable because she thinks only of herself.
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2 comments:
i know what you mean.
i know that feeling of shame when you see the person you've become in the person you're trying to be.
and then...
nothing but the blood.
Hannah, your post speaks to me. You're genuine...
...and I like that.
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