i sit in the confessional, the lattice throwing shadows that in the corners of my eyes become demons.
inhale, hold, exhale.
Forgive me not, for it was not me who sinned. But *** himself, who allowed the hands between my legs when my thighs were no more than centimeters apart, those who forced themselves to invade my space even as I cried and prayed for mercy. *** who allowed their sweat to fall on my face, mixing with my tears. *** who caught my breath in my throat until it was scratched raw inside my mouth as a bird in a cage.
It was *** who sinned when this happened not once or twice, but so much that my body became a shell and my mind a mallet with which to break. It was *** who stood by as I opened my veins and looked for an answer.
Forgive me not father, because you did not protect me, forgive me not, because it was you who did nothing.
Inhale, hold, exhale.
The lattice throws shadows across my lap and my legs have stopped trembling.
Forgive me not father, because you have pillaged me through them.
I make breakfast for my loneliness, unflinching as it sits down in it's chair, grunting at me. The pain throbs in my head and my body at the feel of it's presence, and suddenly I am not in my body. I am thinking of times when I slept in twin beds with friends, sure that one of us would fall off in the night but waking up to our bodies entwined. I remember car rides with the windows down and the sound of radios blaring but our voices louder, singing along. I yearn for times when friends and I would take pictures, freezing moments in time so that we'd never forget that moment, and how with technology, all I had to do was press a button for them to dissipate into nothing. I am crying over the stove and I can hear my loneliness grinning and chuckling behind me, reminding me that the inside of this prison is where I will stay forever.
He used to feed you a bowl full of glass promises. You’d smile at him cautiously and chew them carefully because seeing you pretend that you weren’t hurt made him happy. Later you’d walk into the bathroom and stare at the shards coating the cave of your mouth like paintings.
He used to hand you promises that would stain. It was worth it, to see his face light up as you pretended not to notice the growth covering your palms and fingers. You’d wipe your hands on your clothes. You stopped wearing anything light enough to hold the stain.
He used to fill your head with promises that lit your brain on fire. You’d tell him your head hurt and his smile would fly away. You’d stomach the pain because you didn’t think you had a choice. You let the flames consume the last of your sanity.
He used to be so careless with your heart you were sure you couldn’t use it again. But even the deepest wounds heal.
she recounts her life with the lovers she's had, reliving adoration as she counts them off on her fingers she showcases their best qualities I cannot upstage her I recount my life with prescription bottles plastic and pharmacies the time I swallowed all I had because I wanted to be happy while she recounts, I relapse