SuperNova

Though I was naked when I was born, it was consciousness that made me truly exposed. Even now as I lounge in bed, new to the world, I have to go about the task of getting dressed.  

As a child, the mask I donned was much different. It was unclear where the other started and I began. How could I be aware of the difference when we were all the same? As what always happens with anything too good to be true, time shrithed forward. My body changed; it swelled; it pulled and flowed in a direction I did not carry, at a pace I could not control. 

It was the world that made me aware of everything I had and everything that I lacked. It exposed the wounds I had not even realized had opened, the cuts that had festered with the infection society had placed in it. This infection had taken deep root in me. It whispered poison and masked the taste of death with the promise of acceptance. I tried to make nourishment of my poison. I tried to pull my body this way and that; I longed to be warmed under the bulb they called a sun. Instead it hollowed me out, sapped the colour from my skin and drained me of anything that made me, in an attempt to make me like them.  

… falling out of the sky, a pomegranate hit me squarely on the head …

I had almost succumbed to my wounds, lapping up the poison as though it would be my salvation. I had been in the middle of swallowing another dose, well aware that it could be my last when, falling out of the sky, a pomegranate hit me squarely on the head. Raising the pomegranate, I examined its exterior: its skin had lost its sheen, its normal vibrant crimson, making way for a dull yellowish pink. I attributed my stubbornness to the reason for its cracking open, exposing its guts.

I revelled in the prophecy that it revealed.

One half of the pomegranate had whitened, its seeds decaying into a brown mush, the smell similar to the sickly poison I was about to consume. As the two halves were connected, the rot had penetrated the other side, some of the seeds starting to turn a disgusting brown. Plucking those away revealed seeds with a brighter, healthier crimson. 

A thick string of drool leaked from my mouth, and I realized how I had been ignoring the fire in the pit of my stomach. It roared back to life as I tossed the spoiled half aside, reverberating a spirit that rumbled to my very core. I tore into the red seeds, feeling the gush of their juice spurting everywhere, hitting the back of my throat and running down my chin. I devoured the pomegranate in a frenzied fury. When I finished, I knew what needed to be done.  

Sitting on my knees, I clawed at the dirt until a medium-sized hole cratered the earth. Dirt caked under my nails, but there was still work that needed to be done. Beneath the pomegranate tree, I felt along my head for the spiral in my hair. I picked and plucked at it until finally a crack gave way. I inserted my fingers beneath my skin and pulled in opposite directions. 

Beneath the pomegranate tree, I felt along my head for the spiral in my hair.

It put up a fight, but with newfound purpose I removed each inch from my bones and muscle, refusing to leave even a morsel of self behind. Once free of my cage, I sat on my knees, placing the remains inside the hole and covering it with dirt. I wept, once again naked and complexly unmasked. I cried for how I had allowed myself to exist and whiten inside of this rotting vessel. I vowed that never again would I allow myself to try and disappear. I say a prayer, hoping for the skin to be accepted back into the earth, hoping for it to nourish the tree that had fed me. I knew it was time for me to go home.

That had been ages ago, a time distant to the one I live in now. My skeleton stretches, my joints snapping into place, my ligaments providing stability. A deep rattling emits from my frame as I walk over to my semainier, unlocking the drawer that contained my heart. It shimmers and shines, beating with vigour and warming me yet again as I tuck it safely beneath my ribs, as far back as I can. I know what is to come. 

I unlocked my armoire. As soon as the door opens, my heart hisses a beat as I admire the only thing that hangs there. My skin. Dark and polished, it shines from deep within, its glow… magnificent. I slowly step into it, feet first, and feel as it cloaks me, the base of my armour. It bulges and swells exactly where I want, hugging me with a gentle caress and the promise of warmth. I look along my arms and delight in the ink that now covers them.  

My skin. Dark and polished, it shines from deep within, its glow… magnificent. I slowly step into it…

I remove what rings remain and clack them into my jewelry box. I remove my clothes, stained with dirt from the hands that refused to feel with just their eyes. I remove my skin, precious as it is, one fold at a time, pulling it off slowly until the bones of my toes are exposed. It has been a long day, but still I take the time to hang it up. This is the only one I have, and it took such a long time to love. I reach through my ribs and pluck out my heart, beating, bejewelled and vibrant as ever.

No matter how they strike me, how they wound me, how they try to break me to fit me into a version they can gobble and swallow whole, they will never break my heart. It is not theirs to break. I remove even my skeleton, allowing my truest form to emerge.  

I burst through its frame with a rupture big enough to shake the room. I am colossal. I am a violent, feral explosion. I am dust, wind, and morning dew. I am energy, and matter, and light. I exist in every multitude, because I allow it, and in doing so I am everything as I am nothing.  And finally, finally, because the day has ended, I can finally just be me.