you tell me
it starts small
you say
one spark
shame curled between your shoulder blades
really say
one flicker, all it takes
you never noticed you don’t remember it doesn’t matter anymore, really
     she apologised
     a house in seconds
     he didn’t do it again
i think of what it would be like
often

for you,
forgiveness something to share
i know you hate me
i tell you, i
can’t stop
say
it starts small
steam burning a hole in my chest
say
you never wanted it to start at all
i noticed i remember it mattered it did it
words can be a balm if you believe in them enough
i don’t know how you–
words can be enough to build a house
–live
from ashes to bone to home

i don’t know if i want to keep living like this

you are too easy
and i think
i fear i fear i fear because that’s all
i think often
i am all
of what you’ve forgiven
i learn and the spark
of what i would fight for you
the spark is too quick
and i think
i can burn down a house in seconds
i think often
i know i make you afraid
i’ve never seen you lit except
at me

1) i make lists in my notes app

staring at the page – struggling
something here feels wrong
pronoun use too direct? as though attacking –
perhaps a different one would work better

2) they spiral out of my (still wrong) thoughts, pale white bone on dark dark dark

3) you think (yes, that’s the one) surely it cannot be that much

4) i (no. go back) make lists for:

5) ways [ ] have hurt [   ] friends ; work in progress

6) what [ ] want to do when [ ] get older; if i get older

7) friends birthdays ; and

8) ways to annoy [   ] mother -

9) ways to make [   ]  father like [   ] again ; and

10) times [ ] have recognised that [ ] am poorer than most ; the first entry dated for the day i turned twelve

11) topics that cannot be mentioned at all ; ones that evoke ridicule / shame / regret or ones from aborted attempts at conversation

12) bets ; this note i label as the crux of this problem – it is cowardice in every form / a way of communication without vulnerability / only one bet has been made / this note has served its purpose

13) plans for days [ ] am left alone ; neatly segmented into one hour blocks / five minutes allotted between each

14) train routes and bus times and math ; thirty minutes early is better than on time / a statement that i am willing to die to prove

15) and you see the problem now, don’t you?

16) these lists are created as a means to an end

17) desperate attempts to keep this whirling mind attached to its base

18) because communication in a void is better

19) than no communication at all

20) here is a list of things that nobody else knows: i am slightly gap-toothed / when i smile it feels like stretching a cloth or mask or cover or slip or hood over my face. like a suffocation / i cannot imagine a future without you in it / this scares me

21) and you see the problem now

22) don’t you?

23) i have turned this poem into a list / i will turn you into a list / my acts of devotion are harmless words dotted in the corners of journals, sticky notes, widgets on my phone / they spiral endlessly from me / a besieged writer chased by their words

24) and i still haven’t figured out who to pin the blame on

the bathroom is an ode to violence

in the summer months, my hair grows long
i stand in the bathroom
twisting strands between fingers
my mother tells me
[I] [look] [beautiful] [,]
                                        [again] [.]
i hate how i look like someone that
i do not want to be

in the summer months, i see my friends
every other week
we pile into houses – always the same 2
sticky counters &
                                board games &
                                                            bad movies &
                                                                ­                      bad jokes
my friends tell me i look nice
                                                     (i need a haircut)
i like myself better when
i can be someone they like

in the summer months, i spend most time in the bathroom
staring at my reflection in the mirror
a million versions of me
                                           dig into my skin
i do not remove them
i just want to –

in the summer months, tupperware containers line
the sink-top/
counter-top/
bathroom cabinet
                               each one a sign of my failure
drip
        drip
                 drip
blood from my
teethtonguecheekgummouth
the containers overflow

[I will never get the stain out of the tiles.]

the bathroom is an ode to violence

I raise a container to my lips,
&
Drink.

i often think –  
that if i were not as gullible,
                                                   as trusting  
my Father would not hurt me.

it is never as simple as something like that.

my first name – chosen name, preferred name
kept the same initial  
as my dead one –  
                                  so we still had that in common
so He would still love me.

i will never come out to my Father
/
He will never stop hurting me

they mean the same thing, really