Me, Myself, and a bottle of muscle relaxers

There are painted nails because the rest of me has no color. If I were to remain void of this madness, I would only lose myself. Polka dots and stripes. Snow men and Christmas trees. Images to scream out to the world that I am OK. That I'm not going anywhere. Sometimes you have to lie to the world to make it forget it's problems. In all honesty, I've been packing my bags for years, just waiting for when I hear the whistle and see the crowds part. Maybe that day, I paint them pink with stars.

My wrists are clothed because I am not whole. One should not think of the continuity of the skin as a connector of bone and joint. Arm and wrist are separate and that must be marked. Long ago, I set out to make those marks permanent and oh Lord did I succeed. No one likes to see those divisions, so now I wear them with stretched bands and colored string. People smile at bracelets, no one smiles at scars.

I wear curls in my hair because I am completely lost. Road maps are not straight, so why should I follow them? When the wind catches my hair and tells it to watch it's mouth, I am reminded of just how elegant we all are. Elegant and vulnerable. When I walk, I do not march so much as jive, skip, dance. Maybe I'm walking to hell? But damn, I will look flashy.