I lay my head down, my hair touching the ground, my legs up against the mighty wall. The wall that adorns numerous stars. But i don’t see them. Instead, i start with my toes. The scraps of dirt in the corner of my nails. I cringe. Then i cringe at my fat ankles hidden beneath lump of fats. I count the hair on my frail limbs. The uneven spots on my knees. I caress my three tiered belly and run my fingers opposite to the direction of the tiny pricks of hair sprouting around my belly button. I measure my cups and i belch at the obnoxious asymmetry of them. Until my head spins.
With my fingers i slowly massage my head. First slowly. My fingers softly maneuvering through each strands. Then vigorously. From one part of my skull to another, my fingers move in tiny zigzag , creating a sound akin to a woodpecker pecking its beak onto the bark of a tree. Like the sliver of woods, i shake off the words i accumulated throughout the day. The words i said, the words that were said to me, the words that were never said but heard and the words that were said but never heard. The words now parade to the top of my skull, stand at the edge with one arm distant from the other, forming sentences that consumed my mind all day. I vigorously massage my head, shake it hard so that the words fall off from the edge to the ground, lower than my esteem. Alphabets by alphabets, words by words, i let them fall and scatter onto the ground.
I smell my fingers. They are now greasy with stinky smelly words. Of self-doubt. Misery. Pity. I get up and carefully tip-toe over them, careful enough to not stick them on my heels and bring them to bed and wash my fingers with antiseptic soap, come back and sleep a good night sleep.
While i do that, i pray. May the words, the terrifying, dangerous, delusional, gut-wrenching words are gone.
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