It’s been a year
And I still don’t know how to feel.
Sometimes I feel elated.
Out of all the girls,
All the plums,
I was the ripest, the juiciest.
I spread across his tongue
As a smile spread across his lips.

Sometimes I feel empty.
Like he had
Taken away a part of me.
A certain innocence
So rare, so valuable, so hidden
Not even the best criminals
Could steal it back.

Sometimes I feel fragile.
My bones replaced by porcelain.
They forgot to wrap me
In bubblewrap.
They forgot the
Handle with care sign.
I shattered at his feet.
I crunched under his boots.

Sometimes I feel depressed.
Any light I had
Has darkened.
Any fire has
Been snuffed out.
I am nothing more than smoke.

Sometimes I feel tired.
Like it takes too much energy to live.
I’m not strong enough
To live.
To push through.
My organs are too heavy.
I am too heavy.

Sometimes I feel happy.
When I forget about that night.
When I forget about the bedroom floor.
The popcorn bowl.
The army of whispers
Assaulting my ears.
When I’m alone with a book
Full of poems.
When I shed this skin,
The one with burn marks and
Moth holes,
I’m happy.