you never think the voices could scream
any louder than they do,
until your fingers trace the sides
of your dads loaded gun.
people told me to look up,
but your face always grinned below me.
so I laid with broken bones,
and I never learned how to stand.

there are more crumpled poems
mocking me at my desk
than there are thoughts in your head.
and there are more bullets in the gun,
than tears on my cheek.
tired hands cradled my face, and sad lips
told me that I was precious. strong.
but lonely eyes never peeked
at the stitches holding me together,
the ones you pulled to see if maybe
I could crack a little more, before I shatter.

you never think the voices could scream
any louder than they do,
until your brain is climbing up the wall,
and your blood leaks into carpet.
people told me to look up, but
my face was twisted in the water below.
so the waves swallowed my frame,
and I never learned how to swim.