Number Three

(The story of the Third.)

It began with a stirring in my heart.
I was thirsty for rebellion.
I was holding on to the last few delicate threads of my youth.

I asked Mother for permission:
"No," she said.
And "No," I heard.

And so I resigned to my Mother's wishes, and life went on.
And life was peaceful.

Until I stirred again.

My heart would not be still.
The moment was ripe.
I had to.
And I did.

Without much thought,
save for one deep breath,
I took the plunge.
It was painful, but thrillingly so.
It was a pain the moment it started.
It was a pain the moment it had to be taken away.
It was a pain trying to put it back on.
And it was a pain knowing I had to give it up.

But I did.
I gave up on it, and walked away as a different person.
Not quite who I was before the whole affair.
Someone else.


Thus ends the story of what would have been my third piercing.