to bleed with no violence at all.

After my shower, when my legs are red from the heat of the water, I wrap in my towel and slide down the wall until I sit on the very edge of my towel. I think of so many things. The shower numbs the sound of the outside world, after the shower I exist somewhere between the inside and outside. I’m in the steam of the shower.

I think of the people I want and the people I want to be. There’s a girl out there who could manage my life better than me. As I think of her and think of all the ways I could trick the world into thinking I am her, I notice small dots of red on my towel.

I press my face in the towel. I have acne, a lot of it right now, and when I rub my cleanser on my face too hard some of them start to bleed. But when I draw away, there is no blood on the towel.

My mind is drawn back to the discomfort in my stomach this morning. I only get that feeling before my period starts. Of course I would use the new white towel and then my period would start. But I look between my legs and there is no blood.

Then I think of my new piercings. Well, not new. I got them pierced months ago but they can’t seem to heal all the way. I sleep on my side whether I want to or not. I do it because, ever since I was twelve, I can only sleep when I imagine being held. I’ve never been held. I don’t know if it requires being exclusively on your side but I’ve always wrapped myself tight in my covers, with a weighted blanket, and pretended there was someone stronger than me to keep me safe and whisper in my ear. I wake up to little dots of blood on my silk pillowcase every now and then. I gently squeeze my earlobes with the towel, but I see no blood. Maybe they’re finally healing. I guess salt water does help.

And that reminds me of when I was little and I got surgery done on my eyes. My eyes used to cross, even more than they do now, and so I got surgery so they would stop. After the surgery I woke up and neither of my parents were there so I began to cry. The tears burned like nothing I’d ever felt before. Like salt in a wound. And as I cried my tears ran over the fresh cuts made behind my eyes, and my tears had blood in them. I don’t remember if I ever saw myself cry the tears of blood but I do have an image of myself. It reminds me of me. So I scrub my eyes with the towel, but all that comes off is the mascara that I missed.

Then I think of the knee that I skinned a few days ago. It’s been years since I’ve worn shorts. I’ve been very ashamed of my body these past few years, but I lost some weight and got some shorts that flatter me. And for the first time since before I had a period, I skinned my knee on the carpet. The shower water burns it as it runs over the cut. I touch the towel to my knee and nothing comes off.

I stand up to look at my face, but my mirror is fogged with the steam from my shower. I bend lower and look at myself at the very bottom strip of the mirror. I see my face with all kinds of red spots. I never see them because I wear a lot of makeup. I’ve got very good at covering it up and I don’t feel ashamed of that. I do feel ashamed of the acne. But none of it is bleeding.

Is this womanhood? Is this humanity? Is this youth? Is this the remnant of childhood? Is this what it is to be a girl, to bleed with no violence at all?