visualosities.

[caerulea]

when i was a little girl, my mother kissed me on the forehead and told me i was cursed. i was born with medusa’s eyes, she said. my skin was barbed. my kiss would not wake sleeping princes. i would love too hard; i would have blood on my hands. over burnt cookies and sour yogurt she taught me not to hate this thing that lives inside my skin. (if i wanted to fear it, that was my business.) how many mothers can tell their daughters they’re killers the same way they say i love you? — let them remember i was a monster that was loved | m.c.