Last week, I spoke to my ex-boyfriend
for the first time since he betrayed my body
and it turns out he’s doing well;
a new job
a new tattoo
new apologies for contacting me
after turning my body hollow grave
and empty echo.
He left me gasping for more than air,
flat tire with rocks lodging in my throat
and two days after i couldn’t wait
so i started drinking at work.
My mouth started tasting like Communion,
fake holy and in need of wine,
anything to help swallow these cardboard words.
I drank from you like my favorite sin.
I thought i would drive home drunk,
so I told all my friends i loved them,
didn’t want them guessing
if i didn’t make it home.
I kept wondering why God didn’t give me
a trigger warning,
at least my phone did.
Before I got his text,
my phone flashed an alert
“20% left, will die soon” like
“let your phone shut off, you’ll want to die soon”
but i plugged it in anyway,
which is to say i’ve always found comfort
in discord, i’ve always known how to be ****,
never stitches.
With my flesh torn open,
i wanted to lick the wound clean.
Pretend dog in a field of mice;
everyone tends to be more afraid
if they know who you hunt.
But with my matted coat and bared teeth,
the mice couldn’t see my tail
trembling earthquake between my legs,
couldn’t sense aftershock in my claws.
I’ve never preyed on anyone,
but i’ve been prayed for.
The doctors have seen me carted in
with drool dripping sloppy apology,
creating a mess for this body
committing treason against itself.
But how do you gain back your own trust?
How do you explain to your thighs
that you’re letting their thief back in for seconds
without them refusing to work anymore?
Today I turned fist,
turned clenched jaw,
turned dehydrated muscles,
my body writing with the pain of memory
the knowledge of being told i was too enticing
to listen to the word “no.”
But today when he told me he was sorry,
that he loved me this whole time,
i opened my heart abandoned safe,
wiped the dust off my trigger
and habitually pulled it when he whispered “baby”
in the crook of my neck
like melting wax dripping off a candle,
like the sound of dirt slowly filling my grave
but i don’t know how long i’ve been down there.
It must have been after he made me
grasp his shovel without gloves
and dig myself cemetery.
For days after, i was terrified he left splinters,
i couldn’t stop checking my hands
although i never found an exit wound,
i can guarantee there was forced entry.
So why am i opening up my door again?
Leaving the key under mat
with no protection,
just open arms and beach waves,
saying the word “no” periodically
just in case he forgets,
saying “stop” when i want to,
so i know what control feels like,
placing kisses on his neck
like a dog collar
so i can pull back when he comes in too close.
I will choke him if he gets out of line,
i will shock him if he speaks over my refusal,
I will be the owner of this relationship.
I will never have to lick my wounds clean
from his aftershock claws again.
I know this will probably be a mistake
but I’ve got to find out for myself
if i am strong enough to keep myself together this time.
I will keep myself together this time.