Don’t touch it. Don’t touch it.
Don’t touch it!
I was piercing at this shop somewhere far away from here
And there were all these signs, saying
Don’t touch your piercings.
And if you kept touching your piercing,
The lady there would take out a wooden spoon
And smack you with it.
She won and lost alot of customers that way.
I respect her.
Eat. No, you can’t be pierced
Unless you’ve had more than kawfee today.
You should remember what you have or have not eaten
Chocolate cake doesn’t count.
Ok?

Oh you’re back. Relieved.
I thot maybe you grrls didn’t like me, weren’t actually coming
Back.
Did you eat? Good. What? You’re not sure if the sandwich was good?
Sighs.
Smiles.
I ate too. It helped with the erratic energy.
Ok, lets go back and see if what you want will work.

Pink latex gloves massage the bridge between my eyes.
No. Absolutely not. It won’t work.

Disappointment. Shoulders drop.
Think.
I want this piercing.
Now what?

Well. Where else is there?
I thot about here before.
Left cheek just below my eye.

Lets check.
Not here, but maybe right there.

Confused. Head cocks.

Lets start drawing shall we?
And she places the toothpick at my temple.
A splinter covered by purple ink dots around my cheek bone.
I am safe.
My eyes close. Eyelashes easily shutter out the black and teal design of the piercing cubbords.
The mirror vanishes.
I am quiet.

My eyes open.
There are three options.
I choose the middle road
As well as the other two.
Being myself, I must travel as far as the road
Riding on the back of her steady needle
Allows.

I nod. Yes.
Please.

Her hands, shethed in the unteeth number of pink latex gloves
Touch my face, gently, knowingly
And my body quiets down again.
Begins remembering to breath
Matching her breath to breath as she takes the time
To massage the temple cheekiness of my face.
This is sacred.

I told another woman once, recently.
Nothing is sacred to me. Nothing can be sacred to me anymore
With everything that’s been taken from my body
Been forced upon my body.
Yes love, I understand.
Sex is a sacred communication with the goddess.
A way of opening yourself to a lover
And sharing what’s behind the walls.

My walls remain beaten down
-for which I am learning gratefulness
Because those smashed walls, broken to bits,
Protected the pale, shivering flesh inside of them.

My walls have served their purpose
And are now transformed into recyclable materials
Cardboard box blankets
Which I draw over myself when I feel like running further than away.
Away was always the safety net,
Because I knew, when I left
I would be coming back changed.
Since I couldn’t actually get away from myself
-the silly purple shadow always followed and
Left crayon mark trails to my hiding places-
This was second best.
My Plan B.

I was wrong about nothing being sacred.
Breathing to the beat of another woman’s lungs.
Having the Egyptian queen bow her head to mine
Brace her hands upon my brow, breathing her energy into me
My forehead calm, my hands flat to the black
Of the leather chair.
I let her wash her breath into my body,
Felt her wrap herself around my pain receptors,
Around the hurting places, without her having to see what caused the pain.
I was given an energetical salt water bath as I breathed
In and out, cleansed on her body’s command.
The needle entrance only cutting through skin
Softly, feather light and sharp.
An illuminating contradiction
When I know that space, with her, is the first time I’ve held still
Soul still, at peace,
Possibly in my entire life.
I almost find it when my hands find the flow
During tai chi.
My body almost reverts to sacred.

I inadvertently lied to you love.
I found sacred,
When I wasn’t looking.
By submitting to the process
Of being cleansed, bathed, in breathe.
It didn’t even hurt.

I found sacred in the touch
Of an eloquent Egyptian queen,
Called stranger.
For the first time I don’t feel ashamed.