the sound of men's careless mouths
makes me want to
drag a blade around the edges and
crawl out of this body.
throaty breaths sliding down the back of my neck,
calloused fingertips rubbing my shoulder raw.

this body is fossilised in violent memories,
fragments pieced together,
held by apologies i never got and
the closure i've learned to live without.

i don't know how to talk about it
without talking about how much i hurt.
i don't know how to address my scars
without scratching open the wounds.
i don't know how to share my story
without inviting you to become a character in it.

so instead i leave room for
all the stories i will never tell,
all the memories i will never reminisce,
a space eventually filled with,
'i don't know why i'm like this,
it's no big deal,
other people have it worse.

it's not like i have any real reason to feel this way.'