I.
in this space without shadows,
i was a witness how this world became stranger
until it wasn’t mine. the memory of touch carries the torch,
through a deserted island, an abandoned house,
another girlhood turned ghost-town.
his sour amaretto mouth
closer, closer, closer.
saturday mornings i used to watch cartoons on the tv,
big goofy characters. these pictures come to me from afar
and dissolve into black lava,
at his hands cold metal sting.
with the tenacity,
i cling onto the hope of forgetting,
monuments were built for
gods and prophets.
so it goes.
somewhere in the world
mouths move around the filthy word,
forming the saddest companionship,
like two orphans who recognise each other.

II.
once upon a time,
i believed in a magic stronger than seduction.
why don’t we try to be less entitled?
after all, nothing was promised.
those of us,
attacked, assaulted, agonised,
in the sacredness of home,
in the public eyes wide shut,
fade into TV static noise.
how loud are the sounds of this
realism replica,
in bold letters proclaimed
now available:
FEMINISM!
(sold at every fast fashion retailer)
ALL GIRLS ARE BEAUTIFUL!
(but we still need to profit off your self-hatred)
LOVE IS HURTING
(why don’t you try to see his side?)
it’s nothing personal.
shame just happens to make good money.

I can’t put into words,
the simply incomparable beliefs I heard
every ******* day until I didn’t have to
hear them anymore, and I learned to be paralyzed
from the mind to the fingers to the feet I can’t stand.

I didn’t understand how I grieved for myself
until I shoved everything down before I left for
the hospital one Friday night. I curled up in the blue nightgown,
staring at the cream walls, unable to feel anything at all.

Apathy is equal to unbearable emotion, two sides of a coin flipping
through the lightning cracked air. Waking up, finding the energy to
walk to the nine am class I skipped once a week, the skies did not breath.
Neither did I.

Navy sweat stained mats cover the wrestling room floor. The humid and
old swells without circulation. In the last thirty minutes of the MMA
I love and fear, everything slams into me. The fall I should not have had,
A heel stuck out to kick and I rise into suffocation.

I do not think I failed. I know I failed. Scrambling to the wall, because my legs
could no longer hold me, a piece of my body no longer mine to control. Tears
surge as a tsunami to the coast of Indonesia, cross legged on the floor, I try to joke, to hide.

I see the text my best friend sent me.
A theater kid drove off a bridge.
I swallow.
Grasping for breath. For control.

The coin lands on its edge, wobbling. I totter
off pillars thinned by rotten rain, into ruined fires.

I can no longer grieve. I don’t remember what I once was.
There is much I learned about myself in my psychology class.
Did you know I have an avoidant attachment style? It leaves
me unable to miss people, to trust any answer. What if they’re lying?
What if I’m lying?

See, I sour myself. Broken isn’t the word to encompass all that is,
shattered pieces across the carpet, slivers buried in the door, here
I am, scrapped off the pavement, dandelions bruising the cracks between squares.

I write to you, not for myself, not for you either. Dear depression,
Dear anxiety, I hope you stay. I don’t know who I’d be without you. Exhaustion without sleep,
beating to the minutes and the hours, laying in fear of falling asleep and never falling asleep. Recovery is terrifying. And so are you.
Love, me.

it started off innocent enough
i heard the jokes
stage whispered into eager ears
and the muffled laughter
that inevitably follows
i felt every syllable
claw their way down my throat
i’ve been trying to reach them ever since

i admit this to you
in a body that buries bones
the dull corners not enough
to trigger your concern
no one looks at me and sees empty

seventh grade, twelve years old
i began skipping lunch
because i didn’t need it anyway
4 years later and
i guess i still don’t
this was my first venture
into restriction fueled by insecurity
because with a body like this
no one could ever love me

it’s so easy to say
i already ate
if i word it just right
no one asks questions when i disguise
my madness as magic
step right up! come and see
this body, the greatest freak show on earth
and i’ve mastered every trick in the book
so easy it is now
to conceal the dark magic
while i showcase the light

watch!
i’ll swallow blades and fire
and nothing else
i’ll regurgitate miles of handkerchiefs
in front of your very eyes
so you don’t notice what comes up after

the slight of hand
was the hardest to master
but now i perform it with ease
i can make this food disappear
before you even notice it was there
palm it in my hand
hide it in my napkin
bury it in the trash
where you'll never see it again
aren't you mystified by the unknown?

nothing can beat my greatest trick of all
a necromantic resurrection
of a dead thing
a zombie now walks
among the living
the parasite finally killed the body
it possessed

it latched onto my brain
thrived on my detriment
took and took and took
until there was nothing left of me
i was consumed by something
that was consuming me
this thing
that i've grasped onto for control
has grasped onto me
i've been reduced to nothing more
than my efforts to reduce myself
the parasite becomes the host

i heard the comments
and took them as compliments
gasoline poured onto an open flame
that i can't seem to put out
i thought this fire would extinguish
as the comments morphed to concerns
but that only made it burn brighter
and i'm not sure
how much longer
i can take this heat
shattered porcelain is still beautiful right?

piece me back together
but i'll never be the same
spiderweb fractures across
fragile skin may never fade
but maybe weeds
can still sprout through
i can paint daisy chains across my scars
and roses in the hollows of my collarbones
wildflowers grow
from the inside out
through the cracks in my flesh
and in the valleys between each rib
slow and steady
up my throat until i choke
but that's okay because
at least it wasn't food
i'll swallow bouquets
to keep my starvation in full bloom

the rumble in my stomach
became my favorite song
a national anthem
for a living hell
that brings life to these monsters
if you are what you eat
maybe i can be nothing

i dance around the word "anorexia"
like it's cursed
because i can't seem to admit
that this disease
has devoured my mind
and made every one of my thoughts its own
so i dress my words
in pretty metaphors
and tie beautiful syllables
around my sickness like a bow

but there's nothing beautiful about
hair that falls out when it's touched
and a body racked with chills
in a warm room
there's nothing beautiful about
losing everything
that matters most to you
friends, family
even the ability to have children
there's nothing beautiful
about ***** on your hair
and on your clothes
blood dripping from your nose
or that ache that lies
deep in your brittle bones

this disease is not beautiful
broken isn't beautiful
but darling
you are
4/22/2019

Oh no,
he did it again,
undressed another woman,
as she begged him no,
while her head spun to a different world,
she pushed him away,
her fingernails grasped at his skin,
she whispered,
“please…. stop,”
but he didn’t listen,
not a single soul would listen.

She’s all alone,
stripped of her dignity,
her spirit pushed down the drain,
as he entered inside her,
her heart beat faster,
but her body was numb,
she couldn’t feel her arms,
or her legs,
her fingers lost all touch,
and her voice screeched with pain,
she’d never cried so much yet felt so little,
as her body stopped,
and her soul tried to escape to a better place.

But truth is it doesn’t always happen in this way,
with a firm “No” and attempt to get away.

Sometimes he’s kind and sweet,
or powerful and famous,
he’s your teacher, mentor, or friend,
the love of your life,
or a one night stand,
and you uncomfortably say “No”,
“Maybe not now”,
“I don’t feel like it”,
“Maybe you should go”.

Yes,
sometimes we scream “Please No”,
but other times we drown under the waves in our ears telling us it will end soon,
or
we fall into the sound of our body begging for forgiveness for letting another human take a part of us away.

As he touches you,
and you pull away,
after the hundredth time you’re so weak,
so violated,
caving like a prisoner pushed to the edge,
laying numb and senselessly wishing for your last breath,
as your body is fumbled,
and your heart tumbles,
your honor and morality thrown to the floor,
stomped and spit on as your words become worthless to another person's soul.

Drugged or drunk,
sober or young,
you’re futile,
as your body becomes his,
and what once belonged to you is stripped,
and slathered in pain,
then thrown aside like a bad book and never looked at the same,
but his life doesn’t change,
and all the things you used to love become a reminder of what once was.

The feeling of his hands on your hips,
imprinted on your skin like a tattoo you can’t laser off,
a lifetime of what should’ve been,
but will never be.

“What can I become when his face is all I see when I think of;
love, lust, or even my own sanity?
Where does the healing begin when my body’s just become an empty limb?
What will my friends and family think?
What can I say when the world won’t even believe the rich who’ve paid the same price of insanity for the man who took their dignity?
It took him just a few minutes for me to feel this pain everyday,
So who’s going to believe me when I say by raping me he took my life away?”

When he was seven and I was ten
I kept a collection of things I loved on my headboard.
A watch from my grandma.
A war medal of my great-grandfather's.
A medal I had won after a hard match.
A small trinket that he had made for me.
He asked me about it once, then things started appearing on his.
His first knife from our grandpa.
A picture of great-grandpa in the war.
A small flag pin.
A small cross I carved for him.

When he was ten and I was thirteen
Grandma and Grandpa died within the same month and left things for us.
A eagle sculpture for each of us.
A ring for me.
Grandpa's collection of ties for him.
A switchblade for me.
An old .22 for him.
When I was getting ready on the day of the funeral, I heard a soft tap on the door
And when I opened it to see his sheepish expression framed in the collar of a button up shirt I didn't say anything
and taught him how to tie a tie.

When he was thirteen and I was sixteen
I saw him spiraling down the same path I had.
He sunk into himself.
I noticed.
He didn't want to talk about it right now.
I didn't make him.
When he finally came to me with tears on his cheeks and admitted he needed help,
I helped.
That Christmas, I bought him a wallet and he gave me a small wrapped present
That rattled slightly when he handed it to me.
It was a cross on a silver chain.

The wallet is getting worn out
and the cross still hangs on the inside of my shirt
close to my heart
just like he is.

~~

Dear Little Brother,
You might be three years younger,
and your green eyes still filled with wonder,
but you're learning how the world works
and how to understand each of its quirks.

You need to be careful out there
that you aren't scared and caught unaware
Learn from my mistakes, and you'll find
We're separate people, not of the same mind.

Don't forget to breathe sometimes
I swear to God that it's not a crime,
and though they may tell you you're too soft,
Do not, Do Not let your heart become frost.

Little brother, learn to fight your own fight,
and learn to let your light let others shine bright.
You are not a waste of space,
and you'll need to find your own place.

When I'm gone, I need you to understand
some things are worth taking a stand.
You need to fight for what you believe
and don't you dare waste time to grieve.

Don't you dare waste time to grieve.

I had a good day.
"but youre supposed to be depressed."
"im glad youre finally better."
"see I knew it was a phase."

I didn't sleep good last night.
"its because you always have that phone in your face!"
"did you take the melatonin I gave you?"
"but you had a good day!"

Im sad today.
"but you were laughing all afternoon!"
" probably just something you watched on youtube."
"oh we are all sad sometimes youll be fine!"

Im not fine, I feel alone in a crowd of people who care. I cant catch my breath long enough to explain why I feel this way. I have a voice in my head fighting the others. Im awake all night with my phone off crying into a pillow flipping a blade between my fingers swearing I wont go there again. Its been years and this phase is taking forever.

"......."

"................."

"..."