I compare my body to art to make myself feel better.
These aren’t stretch marks, they’re lightning.
These aren’t acne scars, they’re a Jackson ******* painting.

——————————————————————————————

Theres something crawling underneath my skin.
I pick at it with
Nails bitten down into nubs.

——————————————————————————————

Some days the girl
Who stares back at me in the mirror
Yells profanities and insults
And my last wall of defense comes crumbling down.

—————————————————————————————-

I’m a *****.
Cold, aloof, alone.
I keep my teeth bared.
I keep myself locked in a barbed wire cage.

——————————————————————————————

Self abuse is a tricky topic for most.
We all want to love ourselves,
To open our arms at the end of the day and
Cradle our inner children.
But the second
You open your mouth and
Let cartoon hearts fly out of your throat
You’re branded as “Narcissist”.
So instead,
We scold ourselves.
Whack rulers on our knuckles
Until the blood comes bubbling up.
We pinch and tuck and tease
And swallow bullet sized pills
And spew our lunches in the toilet bowl at school.
And we cling to this hatred
Like a baby clings to its mother.

——————————————————————————————-

I compare my body to art to make myself feel better.
All Mona Lisa smiles and pearl earrings.
An interrupted girl.
I compare my body to art because
I’m already a critic.

If you ever feel sad,
Look down at the belly of your wrist.

Kiss the veins
That pulse and jump underneath your skin.

Remember that no matter what you do
Your blood will always flow.

Your body loves you,
Love your body.

Placing holy water on our wrists like perfume.
Locking ourselves in chapels,
Forgetting the reason for churches.
Do you remember the day
You carved a crucifix into my forehead?
Used the ashes of Christ as a band aid?
The Holy Spirit guided your numb limbs like
An ungodly puppeteer.

The almighty father smiles sadly.
He takes me in his arms,
Says, “My child, I am not sorry.”

I need to learn how to finish projects,
How to breathe without wheezing.
But its so hard
When ideas are shooting around your brain
Like semi colon sized bullets
And the gun powder forms a smoke screen
And its starting to choke me.
I’m coughing up black.
I’m sorry I can’t be better.
I’m sorry I never learned how to be okay.

I am teeth,
He is fist.
I am the scabs on his knuckles,
The salt dripping from his lip.
He is strong, humble.
The type of boy your mother
Wants for herself.

My eyes are gray-blue,
Almost like fog.
He asked me if I could see through them.
I said “no.”
He asked again.
I said “no.”
He asked again.
I said “I can see you.”

His eyes are brown,
Or at least that’s what I imagined.
Maybe they’re blue too.
Maybe we have that in common.
I’ve never looked at him long enough to tell.

He is action,
I am script.
He is the character,
I am just the traits.

He is fist,
I am teeth.
He keeps his hands at his side.
He knows when to put them up.
He outlines my edges.
He needs someone who can open their arms.
I can only open my jaw.
He needs another fist.
I need myself.
A body needs two fists
But only one set of teeth.
We just don’t fit together.

My eyes are gray-blue.
My eyes are fog.
I can’t see through them.
I can’t see him
And I’m beginning to think thats a good thing.

His eyes aren’t brown.
They aren’t mud.
They’re diamonds encrusted in red sockets.
I should feel honored
He tore them out and
Offered them to me on a ring.
I only feel sick.

He is a text message at 3am.
He is “I hope she’s not asleep, its only 3am.”
I am still awake at 3am.
I am “why is he texting me at 3am.”

I am teeth,
He is fist.
I am gnash and snarl and bark.
I am a last resort.
He is broken nose and black eye,
He is bruise and scar.
I am machine,
He is tool.
I am teeth and he is fist
And we were never meant to intersect.

Life was already hard enough
Without you breathing down my neck.
You’re too close for comfort
And it makes me feel like I’m a bomb,
All wires and flashing lights.
You have hooked up explosives in my ribcage
And I’m ready to blow.

You feel like an anchor
Chained around my ankles.
You’re pulling me under.
No one told you I was hydrophobic.

When you embrace me
Your hands miss my waist and
Lock around my throat.

I can’t breathe with you standing at my door.
I didn’t want it to be this way
But you’ve forced your way in.
Like centipedes in the winter,
Like a butterfly tearing its way out of the cocoon.

You want this to be something beautiful
You want me to be more than a dream.
But I can’t let that happen.
I won’t let that happen.

I am thin wisps of smoke.
I am fog.
You can’t trap me in a jar.

Sometimes when I write
I feel like I’m speeding through a tunnel.
The air slicks back my hair
And the wind makes my eyes water
And for once these aren’t sad tears.
When I unzip myself
And step out onto the page
I feel eternal.

Sometimes when I write
My mind feels like a ball of yarn all tangled.
I can’t make out the words
But I know the right ones are there.

Suddenly the words are gone.
They’ve dried up on my tongue.
I can still taste the decay.
They jumped off the train before they
Passed through my fingertips.

My best friend is a writer too.
She reads lines of her poems to me
And I feel deflated.
Not even my words want to stay with me.