This morning, I thought:
“I’ll get a tattoo, three symbols F32.”

On my neck or wrist,
anywhere above a pulse.
To remember that life beats
even under F32. It’s there,
even when you’d  rather
make it stop.

Even when smiles break crooked,
when laughter freezes into sarcasm,
when all the razor edges
cannot set free the lost and useless
soundless screams.

I’m done. I promise.
I’ve put the razors down.
I’ll find a tattoo parlor
for one last game of sharpness.

They ask why would I want
to carry on my skin a code and summary
of things best left on wards or in therapist’s chairs?
(Quiet! The first rule of the category F club
is not to mention the category F club.)
The strange part is, I’m not ashamed.

Do I even need a reason beyond “I want to”?
I still am F-ed up in the head, remember?
Besides, a reminder that I promised myself
to live, to give up the flight and the fight
may actually be of use.

It’s decided: I pick the wrist.
To get through moments like this:
breath in, breath out, make fists,
open palms, touch air. Look at your wrist,
breath in, breath out, go on.

by ALEXANDRA OMELCHENKO
© All rights reserved 2015