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Back then I wore black, trying to make the outside match the inside. Back then I blew my cigarette smoke out of my nose, put them out with nails painted a deep purple. Back then I wore baggy sweatshirts to cover up my arms, where your fingerprints showed, all in a pretty blue line. My voice was thick and slurred from too many drinks and too many drugs. My hair was sordid and ugly just like me. If nothing else, I sought balance in the chaos of being a girl who with every battle killed the feminine inside. I suffered the violence and liked the suffering. I wanted you to hit me in the face where it would show; I am a girl who isn�t a girl. I am one of those girls. Don�t fuck with me; I�ve been fucked with.

And now, sometimes, I wear two perfumes a day. Which may seem inane, irrelevant, and stupid. But sometimes, when I spray the bottle, wait, and then step into the mist, I think that all that is done can be undone. I dance in the living room. I wear pink. I have some lace. I spend too much money on make up and it isn�t to hide anything. I remember that women sing too, and listen to them. I start identifying with lines other than, "turn away from the pain you don�t want". I have my nails done and wear strappy shoes.

I am a girl, one that had to crawl and kick, step back from the precipice of you and learn how to breathe, but a girl.