you left me,
and these poems
took your place.

no matter what I do,
I don't feel alive anymore.

but when I did feel alive,
I wished I was dead.

I tell my story so often
that it seems like I've accepted it.
it seems like I'm recovering.

but the truth is,
I've told my story so often
that I am numb to it.

it no longer feels like my story.
I don't feel the fear and the anger
the way that I used to.
it feels like I'm reading a page
out of someone else's biography.

I have learned to convince myself
that this trauma belongs to
someone who isn't me.

when I talk about it,
I speak in a monotone voice.
I don't get emotional anymore
because I am not in pain.
it doesn't hurt to read from a book.

it only hurts
if I let myself realize
that in this book,

I am the main character,
and this is my story.

I wanted to tell you
that I was hurting,
and that all of this
was a cry for help.

I knew that
I needed help,

but I didn't tell you
because I wasn't sure
if I wanted it.

we both wanted to escape.

to do this,
I used self-harm.

to do this,
you used me.