what you see:
me, quiet and deadly still in a way that
i never am
staring into empty space or
at a blank wall. maybe i'm
counting cracks or cataloging creases.
you see me zone out—
such an airhead, that George is
i wonder what he's imagining

what i see:
ivory skin and hair as orange as
sunset, and she is as beautiful...
on the outside;
but on the inside, she is a
black hole.
she ****** me in
and i thought she was the light
at the end of the tunnel.
i must have been a traveller
stranded and thirsty in the desert
crawling towards mirages.
now i am helpless.

i am watching her line her legs with ink
as she tells me to make sure that she
doesn't line her legs
with blood.
meanwhile, i scratch deep
at an itch that isn't there
and call it catharsis.
i am seeing white tiles and
a translucent shower curtain and
a sink and soaps and everything is
normal—except the girl
sitting in a bathtub
naked without water
and bare skin has never made me feel more
ill.

what you hear:
ambient sounds.
my breathing, perhaps.

what i hear:
she hums like a Disney villain
brewing potions
and calling it tea. she looks
like a princess
but her words are witch's curses
and i'm hexed
under her spell,
hanging by a thread
to every word she's ever said
and somehow not noticing
the noose she looped around my neck.
darling, choke me
'til I can only breathe as well as your drowning lungs
as you gasp into your oxygen mask

what you see:
i'm having a panic attack.

what you hear:
i'm hyperventilating.

the opal that embraces
my finger is coupled
by the delicate softness
of your lilac skin
and as i press into you
and pick your silky brain
i manage to uncover more
about myself—
how is it that you
connect my insecurities
and create constellations
out of them
displaying maps across
a milky twilight

hands as big as my face
and a scream that was
louder than my cries

daddy's got a bottle of red,
it's okay
he just enjoys the finer things in life

daddy i don't know your new girlfriend
please hold my hand
daddy please

daddy, i think i like your girlfriend
more than i like you
she cleaned me up when i was sick

you yelled at me for
getting ***** on the carpet;
but i'm certain red stains are harder to clean

i wonder if i was good at cross country,
if i got so fast
because of the way my tiny legs carried me up the stairs

away from you
that afternoon with a magazine cutout in your bag
number to a *** line

never dialled, you said, not mine, you said
daddy please don't chase me,
i just did what your girlfriend said

my step-brother taught me to box today
i punched the bag really hard.
punching you in the stomach felt better.

you're passed out on the sofa and
i can't wake you up.
your girlfriend sends you to bed and

we stay up.
there's horror movies on the TV;
she's asleep with the controls and

i can't get away
from the blood on the screen
and the little robot boy's tears as the cars crash into him.

i saw women's *******
in bed with Dracula.
i saw you perving

on the lesbians in the flats,
and then i fidgeted anxiously
when you told me you'd bury me under the slabs

if i turned out gay.
i didn't know what that meant back then but
father, i'm so gay now

you bruised my shoulders when i disowned you.
said "goodbye" with enough volume
it sounded more like a "*******"

you didn't care.
did you ever care?
i used to try and curl up to your side

i stopped doing that after a while.
i was young but i was smart,
knew to walk away when you got that slur on your lips

i was young but i was smart:
you don't take your eyes
off a predator

i was young but i was smart,
handled the ***** you gave to me and
crushed that cat's skull

and had nightmares about it
for weeks and weeks;
but i had to put it out of its misery

daddy, why do you hate cats?
daddy, please don't shoot it
DADDY, NO!

daddy, i can't breathe
stop smoking around me please.
mummy doesn't like the smell of it on my clothes.

stop smoking crack with the neighbours,
your girlfriend's talking **** about you
with his wife

pocket money doesn't replace affection
i'm talking **** about you
with your girlfriend.

i found out that you never treated my siblings
the way you treated me.
what the **** is so wrong with me?

twelve years old, finally in high school
mum said i can stop seeing you
dad, i don't wanna see you anymore

twice a year, always in December
just those two visits gave me enough things to remember
why i stopped the weekend trips

your money doesn't cure my ptsd
nor does it stop the nightmares.
i took it anyway

call it compensation.
measly amount as it was.
i'll never see you again now i'm eighteen

but trust me when i say
i'd rather be broke
than have broken spirits and broken bones