I have come face to face with it again-
aligning my eyelids with stench and ruin
I am collapsing on memory
that should be dust by now.
It is still anvil
and calcite
creating callouses
at the base of my neck.

Memory is a shotty thing at best
it doesn't know who I am now
only bringing back the moment
of k9 teeth and flesh wounds
rippling through my skin
like a scraped knee on pavement.

I am not young anymore
but she still lives inside of  me
wound ****** and filled with asphalt
coughing on tears and snot
as it falls down my face.
They never saw her
how the world was so bright
and loud and heavy all the time.
How a passerby could have a ***** look
and make her cry and cry.
They'd always ask me what was wrong
and how do I answer
"it's everything"
when at that age I knew nothing
but the lump in my throat
and the anvil on my little body?

This heaviness has never lifted
I have simply moved around it
learned to dance on top of it
gained muscle memory-
these limbs strong and stature
in the face of the weight it carries
because if I keep moving
maybe I will no longer realize
just how heavy it is
and just how strong I have to be to carry it.
Maybe my arms will tell me stories
of how muscle was ripped and rebuilt
over and over and over again
just so I could function
and laugh
and be alive.

I carry it all with me
like it is a handprint in wet cement.
A small penny for good luck
with my name etched above.
You can still find me there
buried under the cracks
under the tire marks
and trips to the mailbox.
You can still find what remains
of that version of me.
Little, wishing for someone's something-
wishing for anything from anyone at all.

She still lives inside of me
and aches for the day she can take a breath
without having to inhale around the anvil.

and someday, she will.