Imagine all the ways
That I could cut myself
Into tiny little pieces
That separated from loving you
And loving myself

Picture those pieces
Were like glass
And they sparkled
While falling to the ground

You'd think
The night sky
Had fallen
To Earth

Oh how tragically beautiful
That must be.

To be 9 again.

To experience “heartbreak” on valentines when my crush didn’t like me back.

To sleep in my bed unaware of the fighting my parents did in the room down the hall.

To feel safety and comfort in the arms of my mother.

To be upset with my sister because she wouldn’t share her Play-Doh with me.

But I’m 20 now.

I experience heartbreak as if the entire world is on my shoulders.

I can no longer sleep in my bed because the fighting grew too loud and the liquor was too strong.

My mothers’ arms no longer feel safe but threatening, almost suffocating.

My sister only talks in code now, afraid of the listening ears that lurk in dark corners and closed doors.

To be 9 again.