once I was a child
but I was never innocent
because when my father told me he loved me
he did it with a leather belt
and a buckle that gleamed
each time it struck my already knowing body
pounding out years of masculine entitlement
I knew there were words he had heard his whole life
and in my blistered skin lied the understanding
women are less
best when subservient and quiet
so quiet I was
while I buried my head in freshly washed soft sheets
and tried to forget that this person
who hated me so well
also soothed me to sleep
told me I was beautiful
and that I could do anything
so quiet I was
he couldn't hear me scream
scream for the pain
scream for the mother who wasn't opening the door
to come rescue me
once I was a child
but I was never innocent

I have half of an art degree

Plus eighteen years of experience in making a house into a home

I can dance interpretively
to the music in my head

And organize chaos into neat little rows

i just want the
bleeding to stop

my body to realize
it’s fine and it doesn’t
need to do this
it’s only hurting itself

all i see is
blood

it’s not the cut
that hurts the most
it’s the sting of
regrets that follows

so many
types
so many
shades
i’m so
tired of it

blood
more
and more
blood

why do i
do this

why do i
do this

WHY DO I
DO THIS

i don’t want
to live anymore
it hurts too
much now

too much
blood
just make it
stop

but i’m the
one who got
into this mess
how do i expect
it to stop while
i stand by?

look what
you’ve done now
do you feel
any better?

i didn’t think so
a sinking ship
that you keep
climbing back on

but for ten minutes
the fog in my
head cleared
as i watched the blood

bubble to the
surface and
run down my leg
forgot all the bad
things the bad
thoughts as it dripped

but i’m tired
of blood
so tired
i want it to end