Questionably our fall. The Fall of my fall. Our fall?
I had had one fleeting moment of wavering conviction, merely an act of habit. And as much as I would have love to have felt the guilt, I didn't. There was a blankness, a blindness in my maternal extinct because this was not a life, it was a death. The feeling of not feeling was a comfort.
Is this my midlife crisis? Without the fancy car, without the whore on the side... is this it? Do women experience something similar when they try to return to life after kids?
I’ve found that social media, in all its glory, has shut me up. With so many voices and so many opportunities to scream out our opinions, when are we actually heard and does it even matter anymore?
Despite popular beliefs that cosmetics are merely a mask for imperfections or a crutch of superficiality, I will rather argue them to be a key component in how women want society to denote who they are.
My skin feels foreign to me again. If I could uncloak myself from the suit I wear, I would. I would step outside of this tainted body that has betrayed me.
Brightness won't dim
and the shadows do sigh. Silent dissolution,
forgotten and shy.