Your words hit me hard and I was left bruised. Of course you don't see this, bc at first glance who notices a bruise. "Come on," Your words seem to say, "you deserve this. Take this and take that," Hitting me repeatedly you didn't notice that your words were going to leave their marks.
I bruise. And in time you will walk away from our conversation and feel like you gave me power and purpose, but really you just gave me your hope and your wonder and really? What the hell can I do with something thats yours?
I can wear it around my neck to remind me of who you are. Who you want me to be. I can take those words you strung together and strangle myself with them. I can rehash them to myself and serve them up as a reminder of how little I resembler the person you wish I was.
Or,
I can show you in a few days how your words have hurt me. How they have found a place to land and sting and cause me pain. But, I won't. Because in truth the words look good on me. I have become a place people like to deposit their thoughts. I take it all in and when I look at myself I no longer remember who I am - I am everything I am not.
I am the words you rubbed on me. The salt you poured on them.
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