a mug of tea gone cold
kiss marks on a phone screen
a ripped up suicide note
the world keeps turning
does she ever get motion sick?
i wonder, gripping handfuls of dirt
and trying not to fall off the edge
because sometimes living feels like
summer wind in my hair,
sometimes i think
i was buried in a doll dress
and curly pigtails,
smelling of strawberry ice cream.

trauma is not
a beautiful thing
i'm not a bird
with broken wings
not a sick puppy
for you to save
not a white daisy
growing over a grave
i'm rotten inside
down to my core
grabbing handfuls
of guts and gore
pushing it back
under my skin
so you will not see
the condition i'm in

strawberry milk, new ballet slippers, valentine's dances, hair ribbons, flowers in may, cotton candy lip gloss, a stuffed easter bunny, a friendship locket, bubble bath soap, a new church dress, sparkly bike streamers, candy hearts, early sunsets in winter, a white cat's nose, smelling like fresh fruit, innocence,

neverending innocence.

summertime thunderstorm
rock me to sleep like a baby
the pitter-patter of rain
the pitter-patter of sparrow paws
hopping from dream to dream
run, run
until you can fly
this world is made of flowers and honey
but not here, not here
there is nothing here for you

I only want to be alone
I want my wounds open to the bone

I never want to use my mouth
to talk, to laugh, to scream or shout

I want to be quiet, I want to be small
I don't want to be known or remembered at all

I want pink wings and faerie-like grace
I want to be able to hide my face

I want to disappear into the night
I want her to take me with one clean bite

i am
the ghost of a crow
putting myself back together
with trinkets i find
my feathers were stolen
so i use plastic ones in every colour
i picked from a child's art project
thrown out onto the street
and what for eyes?
i take acorns from the park
watching a girl read
in the shade of that mighty tree
lying in the grass in a white sun dress
but is there any scavenged object
i could use for a heart?
so far, i've tried
fresh dandelion flowers, and a lost golden earring
a shiny shell (and how! we're so far from the sea!)
a fox's skull, and the bell from a stray cat's collar
but nothing worked.
maybe i was made to be this empty
maybe what they did to me can never be undone.

i talk, and she listens
how steadily she listens
to every anxious whisper,
every wail of grief

i smile, and i glow
and she glows back
moondust made of fine gray hair
a serene face laced with scars

i never learned
how to sew, or cook
but i can make potions,
and write prayers

and i am nourished with the milk
of the still night sky
and the sugar of stars
ready to be picked like ripe cherries