Phantom Pain: Sophia Russell
Sophia Russell is a Poet, Hair Stylist, and Mental Health advocate who's decided to grace the Styling By Chi platform with her beautiful work. We hope you enjoy her work as much as we have!
Phantom Pain after Tiana Clark
I don’t know who I was protecting more me or him
when I harvested my own heart
of the usual sweet nothings of appreciation during late night talks
where our warm bodies and secure souls aligned under the blankets stars in navy blue sky
We never even did it
My cheek is numb because I pushed his away
His full lips bearing affectionate affirmations of adoration aren’t urgently finding mine
anymore
Our arms and torsos and legs no longer make a tree of love
rather two rootless branches that must now grow around this hole
a misery of the acutest kind
I never thought the saying
People don’t understand what they truly have until they lose it would ever apply to me
He was my weighted blanket
Was Now
Loving myself is like trying to tickle yourself It’s falling short
like when you try to hug yourself
or tuck yourself in a numb empty bed with a swiss cheese blanket
lying alone in the cruelest sort of cognitive dissonance about your existence
What memories I didn’t suppress it’s too painful
confirm my conclusion that he is an innocent passerby
who would have been corrupted by this siren ruled by primitive emotions had he stayed
So I did it for his own good
Maybe it was for me too a sort of punishment
a special place in Hell for breaking the hearts of angels
a dish best served cold presented on a platter of pointless promiscuity
The desensitizing casualty of scratching that itch of polyamory
in my limited experience at least
fleeting pleasure with nameless genitals tangled and sleepless nights and baseless praise on Maybelline beauty and
still there is the gnawing ache in my chest an unrelenting grief and insecurity
realizing that we (or rather I) can’t be patched up with gold too expensive
realizing this delayed heartache is phantom pain
realizing the me I was with him became a necrotized arm or a leg or a finger leaving the only viable option to amputate
Still I did it for his own good
Who do I miss more the me when I was with him or him
He sat in front of me
Sweet innocent humble grateful trusting worthy
as my manicured nails delicately combed through the coily airy hair
untwisting pulling separating
his tightly cornrowed scalp from which dandruff snowed
He moved away to shake the rest out but still I held onto a strand or two
Only with him could I feel so close at arm’s length
but I couldn’t accept nor could I redeem a love I think I never deserved
His back confronted me and I watched him walk into the rain that would disguise his tears and raised a distant hand to my face wiping away mine from a seemingly safe spot where he was
standing
strong and sad and sorry and subdued
Was Now
Loving myself is like trying to tickle yourself It’s falling short
like when you try to hug yourself
or tuck yourself in a numb empty bed with a swiss cheese blanket
lying alone in the cruelest sort of cognitive dissonance about your existence
The only remains are a cold call that hangs in the air with
one person putting the phone
down
and the other holding it up
still trying to keep the connection warm
Still I did it for his own good
Now Was
Face to face in the nightly obsidian we lay
our legs arms hearts intertwined and while our eyes couldn’t our souls met
like interlacing fingers or dancing tongues or hugs from behind
I really want to keep talking but I’m so sleepy
I know I just wanted to tell you how much I appreciate you having you in my life calling you mine I love you
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