I lost myself at age 7.
I crawled into bed and then disappeared.
my childhood behind me—
erased.
set on fire.
all it took was one touch for it all to burn down.
no more trust.
no more love.
no more innocence.
gone.

I am a broken bird
I cannot fly, I only peep
And hope that another will lift me up and away.

I am a broken bird.
I cannot fly, he's heard my peep
But another has lifted me up and away.

I am a broken bird.
I cannot fly, I only cry
He staggers into clouds and falters with my weight

I am a broken bird.
I cannot sing, I shall not peep
I peck until he lets me fall

I am a broken bird.
I cannot swim, I shall not fly
I will sink into this ocean I have fallen in

I am a broken bird.
I cannot swim, I shall not try
I will drown in my volition where I have been left

She may have ground my bones to dust
But I took back the dust and built new bones.

Every cell in my body
From the tip of my tongue to my eyelashes to the bones in my hips
Every cell in my body burns when I think of her

I am not pure.
I threw it away
So I could choose where it landed.
I wasn't safe in my skin
I thought it could happen again
I didn't believe that I could get away
Escape, for real.
I thought her presence was permanent
And in a way, I was right.
But not in the way that I feared.

My body doesn't feel like mine.
I feel skin on muscle
Muscles that move on bone
But I am not truly present.

My body doesn't feel like mine.
I feel hands on skin
Skin that quakes beneath wicked touch
But I am not truly present.

My body isn't mine
Without the tightness in my chest
A tightness that I deeply crave
But I don't know what's real.

This body isn't mine.
I feel a brushing of elbows
Elbows of strangers awakening the memories
But I /don't/ know what's real.

This voice isn't mine.
I speak stories of others
Other things I hope can allude
But none read between the lines.

We were all born crying,
And sometimes I think that even our tiny bodies could already feel the pressure of an unfair world.
A world where women’s bodies are a prize to be won or an object to rank.
A world where people obey the sign in the museum that says “Do Not Touch”,
And those same people decide that it’s a suggestion when a woman says “Do not touch”

Hands on my body before my first period.
Not sweet hands like sweet caroline.
Before, evil was something I used to look for in Disney villains, now, it’s eyes are everywhere, glued to my 17 year old body.
It’s in my neighborhood, in my coffee shop, in my bed. It whispers me shakespearean sonnets and tells me I’m ****.
Runs its fingers up and down my spine, zig zagging over the bone. Its kisses are soft and gentle, like springtime. It makes me feel important and deserving.
Then the sonnets turn from Romeo and Juliet to Macbeth, and It tells me:

****** thou art; ****** will be thy end.

Touching hands, not sweet hands.
Hard, cold, unloving, cigarette stained hands.
Cold hands on my beautiful body, my spectacular self.
I call out to nothing, and nothing responds.
I sink deeper into the bed, wanting time to stop, fast forward, or rewind or something.
I wait for the sonnets to end, and the pain to go away.
I wait for grass to grow and paint to dry.
And then it stops

and I am not me.

At the hands of men, I learned the lessons of life.

I first learned fear with your towering figure, explosive temper, shaking hands, and abrasive voice. The older I got, the more the words cut me, a double blow of volume and weight. The tremors of my body visible for all to see, they angered you, but I could see nothing through my blurred eyes. My head spun as my lungs forgot how to breathe and I lost myself in your anger.

Another taught me vulnerability. In the shadows of your room with your girlfriend next door, I was your puppet and you my master. You tarnished me, made me unclean. You stole from me my vulnerability, killed the me that breathed easy. At your hands, I lost myself.

And then I learned pain-at the hands of a different tutor, but at this point it’s all the same. I learned pain in the comfort of my room, cloaked in that fuzzy green blanket. I learned the kind of pain that tears through the heart and childishly demands attention at every given moment; an obnoxious nagging pain with its grating voice and quick jabs in the ribs. I learned the pain of regret, of indecision, of betrayal. Tears marked the torment of my mind, songs didn’t hit me the same. My heart was an open wound at the mercy of the elements around. I sought healing and peace, wound stitched closed, but such things leave scars. I still remember that lesson well, in your warmth and in your piercing blue eyes, I learned pain of the truest kind.

At the hands of men, I learned the lessons of life. But in my hands, that life blooms.

I once went to outer space
I thought it might be beautiful
I thought I might be part of it
But beauty is misleading.

He told me I was safe with him
He said my body was like the stars
And when you’re twelve and insecure
That’s all you want to hear.

Cautiously I trusted him
I stepped outside one toe at first,
I poked my nose just past the door
I grinned at the unknown –

At once
I gasped–
My lungs collapsed.
And body froze in fear and pain.
Lips pursed, he shoved me further out.
“More or else” he screamed.

I cried for Mom.
I begged for home,
My tears solid in the vacuumed space.
But I was told that mothers don’t
Want a child *****.