Thirst Trap

Please tell me I am beautiful. Please fill my emptiness with your approval, tell me I'm valuable, tell me I'm worthwhile. Please. Ive put so much effort into this. Please tell me it isn't a waste.

It takes discipline you know, and work to do this, to become this, it takes skill and practice and dedication and a willingness to be exposed, to feel open to criticism to judgement, to be consumed by the insatiable maw of your audience, and if you-re not careful you become a commodity. You become content.

How much of myself do I have to reveal? What parts do you want to see?  How exposed, how vulnerable, is this enough?  Is this? When I started I thought I was unique, that people would love me for me, but I have found myself chasing something, showing parts that are private, that are meant just for me, and every new low I stoop to there is always someone there waiting, asking for more, asking to see it all, showing me that there is always a step lower, that there is no bottom to this downward spiral. And what I am getting is very far from the love and approval I have been seeking, this feels like something completely different, like the darkness that causes a husband to kill his wife so nobody else can have her, something like love, but poisoned, necrotic.

I can hear your whispering, your comments about my imperfections. This part looks bloated, this part is pale, a dead fish, a corpse, too old, too disgusting, I can hear you and I can't help but to internalize, to accept your cuts, even though they leave marks, they leave scars.

This has to be the bottom, right? There is nothing left to show. You have seen it all, you have taken it all. You have consumed me completely

But

then the knife is pressed into my hand and a seductive velvet voice whispers now let's see if you're beautiful on the inside too, and I can't tell if its coming from outside-

Or inside

and my hand shakes and I draw the knife across my belly, and everything spills out. 

Everything.

And the knife lands in the dirt next to all my awfulness and I say

Please.

Tell me I'm beautiful

Still writing, 

RP 9.26.26

Ugh. This one made me feel a bit gross to be honest. It comes from a conversation i just had about the purpose of this site, of this writing and why I want people to read this.  Am I seeking the approval and validation of strangers?  Why?  I don't have a good answer, but I got this out of thinking about it, which is either priceless or worthless, and I have no idea which, or if there is a difference at all.

 I once wrote a story called Miller's Song, about a young man who was exiled into an island and forgotten and he spent his entire life writing and singing a song that nobody ever heard, and then he died, and the moral of the story, I told myself, was that a life making something beautiful is a life well lived, even if there is nobody there to witness it, that a life spent creating is ultimately not a waste, regardless of audience or accolades. 

It is a seductive and comforting thought, one which anyone who has ever created anything has at one time or another had, or has needed to hear, and one which is complete and utter bullshit, of course.

Validate me on Bluesky @rpullins.bsky.social

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Email at dissent.within at gmail dot com