they never taste it
just name the temperature
call it healing when I rinse the wound
like I’m not just keeping it from festering long enough
to stay pretty

I let them near
not in
they cup their hands to the faucet
sip whatever slips through the cracks
and call it closeness
but they never stay long enough
to feel the sting

I swallow static
talk in softened sounds
bite down on my sharpened tongue
translate their language
before they can call mine foreign..
again

I bleed behind a smile
they call me safe
like I haven’t been carrying a fire in my throat
for years

sometimes I scream into a drain
just to hear what doesn’t echo back.
sometimes I open my mouth
and it’s all salt
and no water.

I’ve spent too long cleaning the mess
before they step inside
apologizing for the shape of me
before they even ask the question

now I gargle saltwater
until my voice is too raw to speak
until silence feels more honest
than telling the truth
to someone who won’t keep it

let them ask
let them knock
let them misname my ritual.
I’ll be in the quiet
spitting out blood
like it’s poetry
and still being called beautiful
for surviving.

The girl was only seven,
When he came into the picture
                      
                       Bribery by way of sweets

"Now I have her,"
He must have thought,
This was no mere caper

She wonders,
now,
if he meant it like that.
But at seven, sugar meant YES

Call me scarred
Call me hurt
Call me trapped
Say what needs to be heard
Hit me till I'm down
Scream in my face
Watch me fall
Say I'm a disgrace

I won't listen

Tell me I'm broken
Ruin my day
Break my legs
Lock me away
Say I'm disgusting
Call me the devil
Remind me of horrors
Throw me down
On so many levels

I wont listen

Say I'm a sinner
Some soul-****** monster
Hate me
Take me
Try to break me
Feed me lies
Show me enemies
Plan my demise

I won't listen

Steal my eyes
And all I love
Rob me of a home
Of confidence
Make bullets rain
From above
Burn my body
Call me a demon
Take all I know
Put me in pain
Say my ideas will plummet

I won't listen

Hurting I am
But that's just
The everyday life
Of a suffering little poet

I remember the grass,
my fingertips twirling between
the blades,
and the rays of heat
as they give life
to keep the past
in the present-
a dietary aid
to all,
with trees to provide
some shade

I had forgotten
because I hid inside
four walls that weren’t
just physical
but of the mind:
closed off to nature
and the care that
my loved ones deserved

Gradually,
the seeds have been sown
for I am outside again
learning about hard work
with hummingbirds
that mew in the wind
and bees buzzing
as they collect their due
from this life giving earth,
the one right underneath
that I always forget
to appreciate,
but will forever
find my way back
to her
and her healing ways

Silly 5 year old me, such a great pity,
For him to think he could fill the deep hole carefully,
By pleasing forbidden bodies, intuition was screaming for him to flee,
No danger sign warned against transformation into something he never ever meant to be.

When lights of our stars collide,
Only for it to provide some lust and a bit of pride.
All of the storm and misery we set aside,
Touching others just caused more times that we lied.
All heavy chests that yearn for love suffer from this viral infection although hardspun masks try to hide.

The saviour that quiet boy longed for decades and years,
Was all along his future mirror stepping into being twenty-something after a billion tears.
The one that would give him all the love he had ever feared,
Was his own bleeding heart caged in reseda - at least now for me, it cheers.

They say I smile a little more,
That I don’t drag my feet like I did before.
I sleep through nights I used to fight,
No weight of wrong to make things right.

I left before the final storm,
I knew you’d be waiting with a pistol drawn.
No slammed door, no screaming scene —
Just walked away from what we’d been.

You loved the me that stayed in line,
Not the man in me I tried to find.
You saw me cracking but stuck to your ways —
Just glad it wasn’t your pain to face.

Now I ain’t saying that there was no cost,
Some things you leave still feel like loss.
But peace ain’t loud — it just shows up slow,
And I’ve been better since I let you go.