release the orange balloon.


i used to feel the walls of my skin crumble,

crackling like colloseums of days past and

the lids below my eyes a rich purple, the

color of a royal kings pelt or fresh blood.

i used to let my veins flow freely through

the opening gates of my flesh and now,

running, flowing like waterfalls of vermillion

down the cream-colored wrists of your

dearest narrator, i feel my skin tighten 

with rebirth and pride in my body.


this is worth more than dysmorphia, every

time i'd take that blade to my forearm i 

confused relief for happiness, and my

eyes would fixate on my flesh, cold

and unmoving, icy blue emotion runs

through my green-tinted veins, unknowing.

this is not what happiness was.


i needed to find it.


so i put that blade away, i grabbed myself a pen

and marked myself with butterflies up and down

my skin, i finally wanted to feel wanted.

the scars on my wrists only make me smile

because they are healed over, they are of the past,

and no tattoo, piercing, or body modification is

going to compensate for what i used to do to myself.

but here i am, years later and still kicking.


i am willing to cleanse myself of that behavior, i am

myself, i am purified, glorifying every curve and

crevice of my bumpy, lumpy, lovely body, caressing

my torso with the warmth of a blanket, i will

embrace my chunk to erase the memory of the girl

whose disease consumed her body, you couldn't

see a smile behind baggy black sweaters in the 

middle of summer, she is now shining, shimmering,

she is willing to wear a tank top in the yellow sun.


i love my body, show my scabbing scars with a

quiet dignity, this is where i was, this is what makes

me who i am, but this is not where i am going,

these blossoming wounds only make me stronger.

i am capable of being my best self, i have made my

life a journey worth travelling for a long time.


i wrap an orange ribbon around the hypothetical

body of the girl i used to be, to pray that she will

get better, mummify her in exactly what makes

her beautiful, to remind her that she did good,

she's steps closer to sanity, to being better.

i tie it like a bow because she is pretty as a 

present and i love her, i don't tell her that enough.

i take her and lift her into the air, raise her up

so maybe she can fit her unnaturally high 

expectations of herself, honey, it doesn't matter

if you're a size sixteen if you're wearing your

dress to your grave, own your number.

the hair on your arms is just as valid is the

hair on your head, do not hate becoming a woman.


let yourself fly like those butterflies that you

penned on yourself and rise with that ribbon

like a helium oasis, floating everywhere and

nowhere, understand the lights in the sky and

realize how little you know, you still have so

much more to learn, you are unlimited.


i look in the mirror now and remind myself

that i am beautiful, every color of the rainbow

engulfing me, the blackness fading as i

see my own smile and realize,


i did good.


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