Dreaded Scale...Can You Weigh My Worth?

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Dreaded Scale...Can You Weigh My Worth?
A cry from the heart of anyone who has ever looked at herself with less than unconditional love...

Her silence spurns me. I leap up on the edge of the slick firepit, exhaling, exhaling any vestige of vapor that may favor in reward. I don't dare breathe until I see zero, my zero. Yet, it is no real feat, this zero. I know it and do not pretend to relax beyond this evil truth. I have been awarded a false privilege. A day passes to be false among the fake. To parade my skin suit that thinly drapes my tortured soul, outside the jail cell for a few hours only to look inside the faces of other hollowed prisoners, while the prison warden jangles his keys, lusting to suffocate my desires one and all.

Bitter, frail, and furious I tend to the fire that promises to burn me to death. I wearily paint and prune, spray and shellac, careful not to reveal a care at all. I am free to proceed yet know more true I will simply yield to the procession of walking dead, similarly cloaked and masked while secretly gagged and bound. Complicity stings my eyes, hissing and gurgling like the rise of some ancient tongue. Speak you must, lest you die a coward and be buried with regret. My will surges up and through me, a tsunami ravaging across five thousand years of ocean, a silent scream howling across forever and collapsing at the Mother’s feet.

"I beg you, tell me…does my draping skin offend thee, Divine Mother? Do my folds cause injury? The lines that ravage my face, my eyes, my neck, my wrists and hands, my knees and furrowed brows, which have recording ecstasy and horror, birth and death called life, tell me! Are they nothing? Are you disgusted by the gentle undulation of my mass my body makes, escorting my spirit as life descends? If NO, I am a lie and kill me now. Take me. Or, if you must forsake me, I will take with me everything; every cell, every blade of grass, all life, as my revenge. I cannot bear this unhappiness and despair in the face of your casting favor against me. I pray you set me free that I may unclench my wretched grasp that clings to what is untrue. I must find beauty in this nothing, in this world filled with everything leading us all to some false Zero." Keep reading...

This article was originally published at Maryanne Live . Reprinted with permission.
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Maryanne Comaroto

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Maryanne Comaroto

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