Metamorphosis
In category This Is Where I Pretend I Can Write! on 04 Jun 2006 @ 03:56 am
Sometimes I write something and then I think it tells too much or I just feel like showing more. Actually, what inspired me to rewrite it was my friend, Zoe. She writes absolutely gorgeously. It can be really hard to read her journal entries because it's so ambiguously beautiful that you're not sure where reality begins and ends. I wrote this in January MMV, when I was sleepy apparently. But yeah. There ya go.
~
Original:
I like the blankness of my arms. My left arm is enjoying a sort of Renaissance. I don't mind my scars. Never did. I see them as, sort of, decorative tattoos that tell the story of certain periods in my life and that I did get through them. So, in a way, they're beautiful to me, these lifemaps, because every year of my life has been an accomplishment. That's what I celebrate on my birthday: another year I've managed to get through. I assume that I'm learning as I go, if not, this life has been a waste. Although I feel that it is sometimes, I think that part of me knows that I'm growing.
I wanna take a bath.
Recast:
I like the blankness of my arms; the lack of twisting designs in relief. I like the way that the only designs I do have are faded, wilted. I like the way those blood blossoms have fallen from these trees, heavily, like a rag soaked in red paint. I don't want them to bloom anew. I see them as tattoos, whispering the story of my life with their rhythmic dances. In this way they're beautiful to me, these lifemaps. Every year is an accomplishment, a victory, a triumph. A birthday is the celebration of another year survived; the warmth after winter. I assume I'm learning as I go. These scars are reminders of lessons that I have learned and lessons I need to learn. If nothing is learned then life is a waste. And although I feel that it is sometimes, I think part of me knows that I am growing. Growing. Growing until I reach a total metamorphosis.*
*Thanks to the lovely Rachel (aka Tortilini Boudoir aka Obscenity aka Kahanski) for the word "metamorphosis" which I needed for the last sentence and which invariably became the title.
~
Original:
I like the blankness of my arms. My left arm is enjoying a sort of Renaissance. I don't mind my scars. Never did. I see them as, sort of, decorative tattoos that tell the story of certain periods in my life and that I did get through them. So, in a way, they're beautiful to me, these lifemaps, because every year of my life has been an accomplishment. That's what I celebrate on my birthday: another year I've managed to get through. I assume that I'm learning as I go, if not, this life has been a waste. Although I feel that it is sometimes, I think that part of me knows that I'm growing.
I wanna take a bath.
Recast:
I like the blankness of my arms; the lack of twisting designs in relief. I like the way that the only designs I do have are faded, wilted. I like the way those blood blossoms have fallen from these trees, heavily, like a rag soaked in red paint. I don't want them to bloom anew. I see them as tattoos, whispering the story of my life with their rhythmic dances. In this way they're beautiful to me, these lifemaps. Every year is an accomplishment, a victory, a triumph. A birthday is the celebration of another year survived; the warmth after winter. I assume I'm learning as I go. These scars are reminders of lessons that I have learned and lessons I need to learn. If nothing is learned then life is a waste. And although I feel that it is sometimes, I think part of me knows that I am growing. Growing. Growing until I reach a total metamorphosis.*
*Thanks to the lovely Rachel (aka Tortilini Boudoir aka Obscenity aka Kahanski) for the word "metamorphosis" which I needed for the last sentence and which invariably became the title.
