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I don’t know how many times I've reinvented myself. I have been forcefully, metaphorically killed and burned alive. I came back sometimes as something more divine, but it always leaves a little note in the back pocket of my soul, sinister transcript in childish font. Sewn in the layers of my skin like tissue, waiting for the moment I fall weak enough to dig it out and reread it like I've relived my traumas a billion times. Or…I wait for someone to notice the paper cut that's turned tarnished, waiting for the kill and burn once again... Sincerely, Violetta Alexis
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