Clay, want, doughnut, reality, light.

I slipped and scored my stories to my skin, like a potter does when connecting clay. Scored with broken glass and slipped with blood, the memories will never be forgotten.
 
I want you to see me before you see my sins. I want you to peer through my scars like a child peeks from behind their parents knees. I want you to remember my face even if we back away from our possibilities.
 
I want innocence like a doughnut- dipped in trust and dusted with curiosity. I want uninhibited love, like a baby and their thumb.
 
The teenage years have been a roller coaster with downward descents that felt like I was soaring up, up, up free and climbs that had me convinced I was already at the top of the world. Quite often, I did not wear my seatbelt, unaware of how quick life could be loss, just like perspective. All the spirals and loops had me dizzy and disoriented, unable to interact with reality.
 
In reality, every cut leaves a mark. Even if there is no scar, there will always be a mark. A dark stain on my life's shirt, that might fade over time, but will never disappear. My actions will forever be impregnated in the fibers.
 
Looking back from a lighter shade of dark, I cannot see where I began, and when I look the other way, a blinding light keeps me from seeing where it will end.