How hard is it to admit we have “something”?

My second toe beside the widest one is longer than the others. Should I admit this and to whom?

For those who view my nudity for the first time, should I give them a heads up on my body hair? Perhaps a map to guide them where to find each part intentionally hidden.

I (used to) have a drug problem that is in remission now. Should I mention this too?

I stole a few times and can fill an entire auditorium with my lies. Should I announce this?

My favorite food used to be fruit-roll-ups. Do you really need to know this?

When I was two weeks past sixteen years old, birthday balloons still floating to the top of my childhood bedroom, I tried to kill myself (not the first time, nor the last).

At that time, I was not aware that sadness was a disease because it is not always visible on people like rosacea, trichotillomania or genital warts.

I look around at all the scars around me, on others, on my limbs, scars we gargle with, scars we balance on, scars we use as floatation devices, scars we shape into SOS messages.

If we could connect all these scars like a rope leading us away from the ghosts, perhaps we’d find a way out of this pain. And it is pain.

How to show mental pain. If it is not visible, you must be lying or crazy and are(n’t) they the same.

I have secrets. You think you know my secrets but I’ve got some more hiding behind the ones you think you know. I’m going to laminate each one into a trading card and see how many matches I can make. Show me what you’ve got.

I need to dig my eyes into other parts of this earth to find the ones who look more like me. Not like redhead me. Not like homo me. Not like agnostic leaning toward atheist me. Not like someone to compare my cellulite with or even the odd moles or beauty marks that have yet to be categorized. Not someone to tell me how worse off their childhood was/is.

I’m just searching for my scar sisters/brothers/humans. And we are going to have to talk about it because the scariest ones are those that cannot be seen.

I think I have an illness. It isn’t visible. I have no sores; my hair isn’t thinning; and although my appetite fluctuates, it’s unrelated.

I do not believe it is contagious, just cellular.

Let’s start talking about it more. Stretch out maps to include the paths that are too small to notice (or take). I’m reaching out.

One response to “dismissed

  1. “Let’s start talking about it more. Stretch out maps to include the paths that are too small to notice (or take). I’m reaching out.” -Aimee Herman-

    …and then they are reaching back across and over towards that space closer to(o) something wide open this throat these skeletons that we’ve spread out on silk scarves and warm soil…

    if I said we could run faster into ocean water as if trying to burn the salt away would you follow (?)

    …and here we rest knowing all the words have been spoken resistant and elated and split from skull to sex to home to shadow to(o)…

    Aimee, I really enjoyed this piece and had to, as you can see, interact with your words. I feel your sentences are invitations. Thank you.

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