they say that some ages feel closer to others.
that memories spiral inside of you
instead of existing on a linear plane.

i can feel the younger years slowly tighten
toward the centre as a i age,
suffocate it until i can no longer remember

a final breath drawn
before a sobbing goodbye.

hurting, so that it can make itself known
one last time
before it slips into the void.

maybe that is why twelve feels like yesterday.
when I was haunted by the ghosts
that lingered in those hospital wards.

and maybe why thirteen feels like today,
when i’m praying for a miracle
to be given to him.

and maybe why fourteen feels like tomorrow
preparing to dig soil to cover him
not knowing that it would never get the chance to touch his skin.

i'm reliving all of the pain,
the aching in my chest,
the short breaths of panic.

it all exists inside me
coiling around my heart and
suffocating.

all the anxiety growing from seeds planted
all those years ago.

and i keep telling myself that it is alright
that he lived
but my mind doesn’t know any of this

because its still
twelve
and thirteen
and fourteen

and it is still hurting.

I was DREAMING

I was PLEASING

I was LOVING

I was FORGIVING
__

I'm SCREAMING

I'm ABSORBING

I'm HURTING

I'm RELIVING

I know that face used to light up,
and I recognize that face here,
but I don’t know what to say,
cause I feel that face in my expressions
and I really thought it’d go away.

I am delighted and also frightened,
and I feel most ashamed
that after all this time,
our faces, some faces, these faces
look the same.

Daddy yelled at me - "Stop crying, and take it like a man!!" - and I shriveled up into myself, being a baby again. I tried to think of all the happy things we had done before that - Daddy let me watch him play WOW, and he played a board game with me, for the first time since I had met him! - and there were a couple, but it was hard not to feel the pain, and to not cry... Eventually, though, I learned to stop; when Daddy told me to pull my pants down, and bend over the edge of the bed for a spanking, I did it shakily, but I did not cry, even if Daddy hit me with a belt. I 'took it like a man', but it seemed Daddy did not like that, even though that is what he had told me to do. He yelled again - "I might as well spank you double, since it doesn't seem to bother you!!" - but I did not cry. This made Daddy stop eventually, but when Daddy turned into Father, I wished I could get the physicality back. The shaming, and yelling, and screaming, and fighting was so much worse - it made me want to die. When I told father this, he only did it more; so I tried to die. Then he left me on my own, ashamed of me; from then on, I wrote until my fingers callused, and drew until my hand cramped, to have a world of my own, where nobody was shamed for wanting to cry, or end their lives.

I knew I should be alone
after the torment meant for me
had gone on and on and on and on
'til loud 2:46 a.m. was freed.
I searched for something to fill the void
that toyed with whatever mind I had left.
I opened cans, broke bottles, and soiled
what good I had left when you left.
So I met this one who unfurled and quizzed me to death.
And I loved her laughter, and she said, "Suddenly,
"I miss you when I'm not near you. My breath
"feels incomplete when I linger . . . without you."
And I thought, Finally, happiness is no afterthought;
but still I was empty as a camel thirsting
in the Sahara, groveling, with no life bought,
even in the oasis that was burning through this rot.
And then this amazing girl came right in front of me,
came on my face, and came on my crotch;
but I was emptier than a lonely pier out at sea.
I knew then this new sin she and I shared was botched
from the start when I said, "Hello,
"may I enchant you sometime?"
And over time I grew hollow, more hollow,
most hollow, when she tells me "You're all mine."
You haunt me still in my sleep and in the quiet;
your image seared right into my skin.
And I no longer have the will to calm this riot,
your voice embedded deep within.
It's 12:24 a.m., and my being yearns to feel hers,
but my heart belongs to someone else.
I see her for her in the dourest hours,
but yours is my birthright, and I haven't felt myself
being—trying to feel—all right.