and i hope for the child
who is no longer a child
who is now older than her abuser
to mourn the child inside her that doesn’t stop crying for salvation
to no longer feel his touch
through each hand to explore her body
to feel clean when she scrubs
her skin til it’s raw
to put down the blade before
it opens her up to so much more
i think about her when i bleed
though i don’t bleed for the same reasons now

and here i am,
cleaning myself off my bathroom tiles
in attempt to try again.
but trying again isn't as easy the 4th time around.
i want to be a kid again.
but even at 9 and 10,
11 to 16
being a kid became an adults job.
looking after myself and cleaning the dishes of uneaten food,
cleaning wounds and kissing plasters like my own mother.
i'll be okay.
that's what i'll always say,
and i guess when you say it enough
the lies become the truth
and my eyes blink away my youth.
here i am
cleaning myself off the bathroom tiles
knowing that i have to try again.

so call me tonight.
lets sing the songs of summer romances
and make plans we'll never follow through.
listen to me pluck the chords of this scratched up acoustic,
humming the lyrics that only i know apply to you

you're on my mind again.
though i left you back in the year of my downfall,
i want you to know that i forgive you.
no matter how vividly i remember feeling so numb,
taking you to a place no one had been before i was ready to.
taking my innocence
and stretching it into an unrecognisable form,
pulling it out like barbed wire through my open wounds.
though, despite all of this
despite knowing that i probably should hate you
and the realisation that you never really truly loved me.
i couldn't help but love how my blood looked on your hands,
nesting deeply under your chipped black fingernails.
i hated to admit that maybe
just maybe,
i loved how vulnerable you made me

If my love could heal,
the faded traumas
which adorn your skin
would expire

If my love could heal,
you wouldn't pleasure yourself
to the idea
of her suicide

If my love could heal,
you'd feel your mother's absent love
through the cracks
in my lips

If my love could heal,
maybe I'd learn to heal myself
before others

And then maybe;
I would've healed myself
before a predator

081324

These days, I skipped my morning routines.
No coffee breaks, no late meals.
I lost not just the appetite for food
But also the appetite to mingle and crack some jokes.

So, it’s just me —
And this isolation was so familiar.
Just like the old days of resisting my “tiny self.”
The so-random thoughts don’t even help at all…
I was stuck in this shell and it wasn’t well-curated.

My body aches with the unknown tensions
And so I pulled the strings off my mind,
Stretched out my feet as hard as I can
But inside me was something severe —
Something I hated to encounter.

I speak to my body as I lay down
Turned on my favorite playlist in Spotify
Full of worship instrumental
And empowering podcasts
Calming my soul to take a pause and simply rest.

Goodnight to the bed bugs that bite
As I shake off the fluffy pillows on my feet.
Then I cover myself with a hand-me-down blanket.
The pain was intense
So I had to grab my pills to give myself a lesson.

I used to glide my left hand
Reaching out my French-bulldog
Named after HP’s Luna Lovegood.
But this time, I made her sad for not playing around.

I know, she’s tired of me too
We stared to each other for days
And all I can see was her scared eyes.
Most of the times, she jumps off her feet
But this was no longer the old times — she’s changed.

I went outside to breathe
But it’s like an open freezer to me.
I ***** when I eat and the aching doesn’t stop.
My body’s tired of murmuring her pleads...
I know and I can feel her
But I was not ready to comfort her.

I looked at the mirror with pale face.
Having tons of lippies can’t even paint my lips red.
I overthink when I’m upset
So my past time was to write —
It’s like an explosion of joy, anger, fear…
Did I forget the others from Inside Out?

The inner child within me was turned on,
And how could I stop her?
Should I play hide and seek?
I hope it’s the end game already
But I find this as my quiet place too.

The moon is still bright on the other side,
Even if it's out of your sight

I left behind a home
Though one in only name
I know not what I search for
But couldn’t stand it be the same
To be bound was to be free
In the confines of a cell
Yet to be free is to be bound
By no good that I can tell

In taking to the seas
I hoped for some great change
But found that all things blended
And only varied in their range
I had not found myself
Among the waves or great white coast
I thought a path had opened
But it vanished as a ghost
No one or thing could remedy
The hurt I fostered close
No one or thing could change it
But the one was wounded most

So here across the Farrow Sea
I pull a dagger from my heart
Here on distant shores I sit
A world and man apart

To bind the books
I have written in a consciousness
about all the little things
that manage a heavy weight
the things I pour into my mouth
along with the endlessness
and swish it around like mouthwash
hoping to taste the peculiar flavour of wonder
enough to forget the pain from
dunking my hands into buckets of wood chips
and fishing around for the next steps
retracting my fingers from future mess
that are now covered in the challenge
of scarring and healing