Elle by Maha Al-Mazrou

Posted on October 21, 2012 by

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Elle is a Writing Club project. Learn a little bit about her here.

 

I get called “bitch” about five times a day. It comes with the job, and just so you know, I honestly couldn’t care less what people say because I’ve eventually become immune to degrading and completely blind remarks about something I throw myself heart and soul into in order to make people express themselves in a world that tells them not to.

 

I am an artist who has the greatest responsibility of all. I am tasked with immortalizing words and paintings on the skins of souls that burst unsuppressed feelings that can only be expressed through creation.

And they are the scum of the earth who, from what I can tell, have nothing better to do in their lives than to wake up and throw around slurs that are simply beyond the pale.

 

Who are they to frown upon something that helps others through, like an antidote? Their remarks would actually be a bit flattering if your lives weren’t so tragically devoid of meaning and their souls weren’t completely lost.

 

And if this is any consolation to them, there are days when I become a total and utter insecure, paranoid wreck swimming in a sea of imperfections and drowning in an ocean of self-loathing.

 

And when I have more than my fair share of heartache to the point where the ground below me shatters and the sky above me rips open, I will toss a dart at a map and land wherever it lands and leave everything behind and start anew to offload my wanderlust in the skylines of beautiful bohemian cities and quench my desire to break free from the suffocating bone cage that I am trapped in.

And I will freeze fleeting moments of singing along to lovely songs and listening to the soft rustling of autumn leaves under my feet, and become confident enough to not break down whenever I caught sight of myself in a mirror.

And I will build walls of books between me and the rivers of dismal reality, filled with glorious pages that could change the minds to see scars as life stories that are yet to be fully revealed and flaws as utter perfection.

And I will let the universe gently cradle me to sleep every single night.

 

And I will use my body as a canvas and get my right collar-bone pricked and stained with an indelible tattoo of a flock of birds their wings spread in flight erupting from my dungeon of a ribcage.

 

And I will scream at the top of my voice “I am Elle, a 23-year-old tattooist who decided to live to inspire if nothing else!!!!!!!”

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