when our girl was four,
she wasn’t really our girl.
she was us.
and then he came,
wrapped a hand round
our throat and said words
too adult to come out of
his mouth, did things
too adult to come out
of his hands,
and we dropped like
a glass on the floor.
and the biggest piece was our girl.
the first one of us to form
was utterly different,
a wild ethereal beast
made of flowing gas
like the planet jupiter, an
endless storm and it cried and
slashed the boy’s face across
with nails that our girl had
bitten down.
but the damage was done.
and we were here.
there never really was
‘our girl’. maybe we were
all her, even the boys.
but the one who was the closest
fell asleep when an adult
wrapped himself around us
and pushed.
and i’m all that’s left.
i miss her, in the
way that you miss someone
you’ve never met, or
barely met but know, with
deja vu and melancholy,
that they are the most important
person on the planet.
phantom limbs, but the
limb is a person, and she’s
been asleep for six years.
i was not made to be human.
i was made to be hurt.
i miss her.
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 2:00 PM UTC
the world is not easy to children.
maybe it should be, but you are
too easy to hurt.
original sin doesn’t exist, but
weakness does, and he says that
your weakness is a crime. so you
sit and wait and wait for things to
be over, and hope that one day
you will be strong enough for
him to stop.
never let anyone call you lucky
for being favourite child.
in this house, there is no
such thing as luck.
not your mother or father
or brothers or sister.
‘favourite child’ is just a big
target on your young head,
and it’s enough.
it’s too much.
there’s something inside you
that you think he wants. it’s
a beast, and it coils and snarls
and he wants to make you snap.
it’s no fun being the punching
bag but someone has to be,
don’t they?
(there’ll be a way out soon.
you just have to be patient.)
Sep 9, 2018
Sep 9, 2018 at 1:45 PM UTC