I was born at midnight to a full moon,
the stars engulfing the sky.
The fourth Wednesday of the month,
two days after spring,
in a run-down hospital
somewhere in Kathmandu

I don’t remember much
What I do
I wish I didn’t
My memories like shattered glass,
bits and pieces scattered across my mind.

Our house
Mud walls and straw roofs
Cold hard floors,
blankets laid out in a neat pile
Pillows made of leftover straw and crumbled paper
Sound of crickets
At night
Like a lullaby

Long hours alone,
the feeling of isolation
before I knew what it was.

Long walks to school,
and worn-out shoes
that we could never afford to replace.
The stick at the corner of the classroom,
glaring at us,
mocking us,
“Who do I get to hit today”

Screaming and yelling,
Heavy words that leave a mark
“If I wasn’t tied down to you”
“I swear to god I’ll leave you”
“After everything I’ve done for you”

Leading me down this path of self- destruction
Stuck in prison of self-loathing
A cycle of abuse that I put myself through
Guilting myself into taking on more than I can handle
“After everything they’ve done for me”