It’s just a tiny piece of metal

tongue ring on a poem

I took out my tongue ring. And I am having feels.

There’s no concrete reason for why I did it. Nothing I can point to or explain. Nothing practical or social. No new maturity or understanding.

It’s just time.

Time to let go of the last ten years. Of the twenty-year-old girl who wanted so desperately to be someone important, to be desired and lusted after and badass and immortal and untouchable. To know that the symbol – this totem marked for truth-telling and speaking prophecy – is only an idea, an old story I’ve outgrown. To have faith that that power lives within me without pinning it to my flesh.  To free myself for more than I’d ever hoped for.  To move forward, upward, outward.

It’s time.

It is strange, though, to notice that the questions I have taking it out are the same as the ones I had putting it in a decade ago.

What will people think of me?
Who will I be?
What does this say about my mind, my heart, my soul, my body, my beliefs?
What does the future look like now?
Why am I doing this? Does it matter?

Same questions, different answers.

Different me.


 

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