My text
My favourite place...
Is lying on my bed, with my red hair down, cascading down to the floor- thick, twisting and turning, messy- quite like my life.
I have my eyes staring unfocused at the ceiling. My tears have dripped down my face, behind my ears, before soaking quietly into my hair.
My arms and legs are uncovered- something only done when I am alone, because others must not see my struggle, my pain. I allow my right arm to fall lax, hanging from my shoulder, but with blood slowly running down through my palm, along my fourth finger and gently dripping to a piece of paper below- already dated, ready for my records.
My breasts are scarred, many slash marks turning this way and that- I cannot get out of this- I have lost my way.
My fat stomach, whilst covered in scars, has fresh cuts, each creating a pool of blood, some merging into one large pool- with some blood falling into old scars- using them as channels to speed up the journey that the cool liquid travels along to fall on my bed covers below.
My thighs have words, pleas for help, from a time when I found that carving words on my skin, my canvas, worked. Stretch marks entwine with long straight scars, creating a fine mesh laid onto on once pure, clean skin.
My claves, along with the layer of red lines, contain large bleach burns- where I created large expanses of raw flesh which did not close up for many weeks.
Ankles, as a place I could access quickly in school have many marks, and then you come to my feet. The top of my feet still bleed and my toes are individually bandaged- I cut off all my nails, then ever since, every night rip off any new growth.

Now to my left arm, with many large holes still fresh, still hurting. My forearm has no space left spare and my hand grips, with five bloody digits, next to my palm, my crucifix- my only hope left, but this hope is being distinguished slowly and constantly. How can my faith and my body be such an antithesis? How can, next door to this ugly body, I have my old satin ballet shoe, something which I used to be, but what I have ruined?
Yet, I feel calm.
My favourite place, my favourite feeling, my story.