Friday, August 28, 2009

my name is:

My name is Ana and I am small and toned and tiny and breakable. Every bone shows through and I am fragile as to say ‘do not hurt me’.
My name is Annie and I am short, spirited, whoreish, funny and random. I will shock you, disappoint you and yet still be complete within myself.
I am two. I am one and still another. I am split, not as in two personalities but two entirely different entities living within one body.
I am Ana. I am a skeleton and I am a twig that will crack with the slightest pressure. I am raw and you won’t forget me after you’ve seen me. I burn.
I am Annie. I have secrets that I tell everybody and one that I tell no one, not even myself. I am as honest as can be, because further honesty requires life and I don’t have enough of that in me to attempt fullness.
I am toes curled and apricot body wash and I am a red bracelet on my right wrist. Check it. Remember. A moment on the lips. Fail. Fail. Fail. Fail. Retreat.
You think I am a free spirit full of words and music and acoustic guitar. You think I am everything I say I am, and I am. I am what I say I am but I am nothing. What does that make me? That makes me me.
I am a button spine and cage-ribs and wrist bones and clavicles and hip bones and tendons and muscle and most of all bone.
I am jiggly. I am healthy. What is healthy?
Salad, water, diet coke, black coffee, diet red bull- fifteen whole damn calories.
Anything carbs. Spaghetti, bread, Danish, sandwich, nourish, skin, chew and spit. Savior.
You think I am sickness, but to each his own salvation. I am holy and sacred and I rot my own insides away. I am cryptic, like computer language- only Ann and Ana, me and Mia can understand it.
No, no. I am fused, truly. The break wasn’t clean and particles of each other linger in another. I am you and you are me. We are one, truly, somewhere inside.
Dance with me. It burns calories, it’s aerobics, it’s one two three four and again and again and infinite.
Dance with me. Grasp the moment by the neck and choke all life out of it. Milk it for all it’s got. You won’t live unless you stop and make experiences out of everyday occurrences.
Oh, if you must know, I am the secret.
She is the secret. The secretest secret I have.
Not the disease. The disease is nothing. It’s the girl. Ana.

1 comment:

  1. You really are two different people, yet one. Sometimes i feel like I know you better than anyone in the whole world. And then I read your blog and realize I don't know you at all. How can this be?


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