clouded memory
pine needles caught
in her hair, mud in her toes
as fast and as far as
her little feet can take her.

the forest knows her by name-
long since introduced to her tears.

a solace brought by
a familiar violence,
a comfort brought by
the running that
she knows so well,
that she has mastered,
and she will continue to run
until the day she dies.

she craves to stop and catch her breath.

craves to look
at the wildflowers and
listen to the birds.

she does not see the sunrise or sunset.

she only feels the wind
pull her back, she says,
"i must run faster before
they catch up to me."

yet nothing has chased her
in over a decade.

do you think i don't remember? that i don't still feel the cold metal gun pressed into my skin? that i don't sometimes reenact every scenerio, pretending that i am the one pulling the trigger? i still pull my hair back and powder my cheeks with blush, pull my stockings up past my knees and look in the mirror with doll eyes- the false innocence- so easy to play. an actress i am, always have been.

i wish i had killed you.

you beat me to it, your secrets two steps away from exposure.

they scraped your brains off the parking lot, power washed every memory you had of me.

your last breath was my first sigh of relief.

twelve years a prisoner
from one hand to another
i'm not yours anymore
or hers
or his
nothing left of you but
the burnholes in my skin
nothing left of me but
aging memories
the wounds to stitch
the child within

i.
if i could have back
everything you took from me
i wouldn't want it.

ii.
childhood wounds
entangled,
the little boy
who loves
the little girl.
the silly child
within me
who thought
you could
revive her-
willing to
believe
anything.

iii.
you did all
you could to
sink your teeth
into my
rotting skull,
to brand your
fingertips
on my skin.

iv.
you are poisonous
to all you touch,
your hands rough
with abuse,
tongue laced
with venom-
every word
another lie.

v.
i would rather die than carry your child.

vi.
there are now
no living ties
to my old life.
i am not alone-
i am free.

vii.
my new love
holds my heart
with utmost
gentleness-
hands as delicate
as rain.
he untangles
us,
strokes my hair
cooks me breakfast
wipes my tears

viii.
the little girl
who you spit on
lied to
beat
*****
silenced-
she dances in the kitchen
jumps on the bed
paints a picture
of a life
unknown.

will the resentment
ever die?

will i carry our lovechild
dead in my womb
for all of eternity?

will we sit in this
dusty red room,
naked and wet with sin,
childish wonder and ache
until the end of time?

is your love the crutch that
carries my broken limbs?

are my memories of us
enough to erase
the scars off my skin?

do i love you? or do
i love the little girl
who died next to you?
the innocence stripped
from the outside in

you, forever damp
with my seven-year-old tears
you, the only living tie
to the lost, unearthed years,
you, the last remainder of
what could have been

me, afraid to forget
afraid to start
again

it is november again.
clarity and reason fade into the quiet snowfall.
the feeling is comforting and familiar-
i remember you.

i forgot that i loved you.

june july august is a hug
delicious food and laughter
wine, sitting by a fire,
***, sweet love, warmth.

november stings like tears
like release
like *******
like poetry
like art

i am ready, i fall into you