Rebecca Gaffron

Of Matter and Antimatter

Faces emerge. My attackers still exist in the coruscating chaos of nightmares. You, accessory to horrors I have learned to live with. And her. Perpetrator. Biting the hand that fed her. Painting my body blues and greens with her teeth. I wake already scrambling from the bed, reduced to fear, intent on escape. This has become my reality. I tried to wear the bruises she gave me, that you let her give me, like medals, a reminder of how much I was willing to do. To erase the snap shots of watching as you enjoyed having her. I tried to scrub the sleazy feel from my skin and soul. Resigned myself to never completely healing. I struggled to be strong, the way you told me to be. The kitchen variety wouldn't work, so I got myself a good quality drywall knife. I started with the marks closest to my heart. Stood naked, blade in hand, ready to slice away the filth. Bleed myself clean. But oh, lucky me, turns out I was strong. I dug deep and suffered through.

Arianrhod

Will you still love me when I'm no longer young? Or beautiful? I am so much more now than years ago. More waist, more jiggle, that's true. But better booty and fuller lips too. Can't you feel the power in my laugh and the way I move? I have learned to rage. I have learned to weep and wail. And to shine. I have grown so full of difficult, delightful, engaging luminosity that slim simply won't contain me. I know the value of my bitter-sweetness. Embrace these curves sculpting pleasure's songs. My creases spill genuine feminine – a strength of softness. See truth in my eyes. The girl is gone. Woman now, lovelier for my broken, imperfect places.

CP

Rebecca Gaffron is part Appalachian mountain girl, part chalk roads journeyer. Either way, she has a habit of playing with words and spinning tales. Her writings can be found in a variety of journals and books including her first collection, Honest Lies and Imaginary Truths, and at her web site rebeccawriting.com.