When I was younger, my father told me that things will only get harder in life. That I need to straighten up my act now or life would grind me down, slowly but surely. "Smarten up,

When I was younger, my mother would cut my hair in the kitchen. She was always so rough with it, as she buzzed down my sides and shaped me into a growing young man. "Hold still,

When I was younger, I hated growing out my hair. It was so insanely thick that I felt it would keep growing out straight ahead and never droop, like my sisters hair. I could never be that, letting it drop down past my shoulders, full and healthy. The easy way out was just to

When I was younger, I started with it. It made things more tolerable, the grinding could be settled down. I wanted to fight back against my body, take revenge for my body growing like a tumor around the girl inside of me, like clay padded around a figure and forced into a kiln. It settled my mind, it was suffering that I could control. The despair would bubble to the surface and push against the skin, So I had to

When I was younger, I did my best to make the scars symmetrical, to bring some order to a body I did not understand. What one half of my brain felt, the other had to experience as well. Maybe it would straighten me up, give me the room to breath, So I could

Now that I’m older, that girl is still dead inside me, still buried under muscle and fascia and scar tissue, but there’s a woman growing on top of it. That girl can still be heard, like a constant echo bouncing around inside of me. I lost plenty by not being able to understand those words, but I hear them now. They aren’t useless cries, they’re demands. And the more I listen, the better I am. Life only really started with honesty, with commitment, with love. Life only really started when I heard her tell me to cut it out.