i.
almost human, not quite
the monstrosity that sorrow birthed
the captive of this mind

ii.
you broke down walls and
erased lined
clipped my wings and
bound my feet-
no choice in self but
this identity you gave to me
unable to exist alone
in this cathedral mind,
this styrofoam body

there was one and then there was two
they say
before blood touches the air it runs blue
and i am still running every day-
sometimes away,
sometimes towards you.

i.
how do i exist in this skin that your fingertips dug and burned holes in
i shrink away until my ribs poke through
i wish i didn't take up any space at all.

ii.
you stole the sacredness away
stole the air out of my lungs
stole the song off my breath
stole the saltiness of my tears
stole the words from my poetry

iii.
i carry it all
this solemness
this death
this body
this broken home

no more dusty cellars
no more clammy palms
no more peeling wallpaper
no more stained ceiling tiles to count and pass the time

no more little red lights to perform for

no more blood to wash away
no more bruises to hide

no more you.
no more us.
no more them.

          when i wake up the sun pools over my nakedness,
          and i know
          this body, this soul, this story
          is my own.

                                         i write
                                         i sing
                                         i dance
                                         i clean
                        
                                                              i enjoy my time alone.



the chains have broken
rusted out
the years melt with the snow
the porcelain doll is shattered
the child is grown.

wrists cry
hemaglobin tears
washed away by
shower steam
and daydream fears

your knife-wielding hands
clenched to the bone

my roar now dwindled
to a gentle hum

your selective deafness
my self-inflicted muteness
our perpetual daze

i wanted you to hear me so
i screamed my voice away

i wake up,
cough up the poison i swallowed
trying to ****
the piece of you that
lives in me.

the flavor of your breath
still fresh on my tongue,
after seven years,
the saltiness of your sweat,
the cool metallic taste of
your blood.

i remember it all.

i want to forget.

i want to shed this skin
handwash these stains you left
on my soul
with warm water
and sweet smelling soaps.

kick down the door
of this home you built
in my mind
and burn it to the ground.


this is mine
you can not stay here,
anymore.

i spent nine years
tuning out
quiet lullabies

three years
burning your fingertips
off my skin

nine years reclaiming
this body
this soul
within

wanting to be clean
untouched, unseen

a lifetime of washing away sin