I cried, and then I came last night.
The pieces of how I view myself keep changing, chipping away.
I don’t know if that is good or bad; it just is.
Is it vanity? Is it identity?
Or is it just life, never stopping for me to catch my breath?
I no longer have nipple piercings.
Saying it out loud sounds so trivial, but for the longest time they were this sacred secret sexy part of me I shared with others I deemed worthy, and now they are gone.
There is no way to predict when your body is going to change its mind and reject the piece of metal with which you have adorned it. My right piercing lasted 12 years, my left 16.
For nearly the entirety of my adult life, those beautiful pieces of jewelry adorned me every day.
So I cried when I had to take out the left barbell last night; it was like I was losing a part of me.
But I am still me. I am still here.
One hole less in my flesh, but two pretty nipples still hungering to be sucked.
And I am waiting, yearning to feel that pleasure again.
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