Everyone says I’m brave.
But all I did was sit still
while the world turned to fang.

God said,
Let there be skin—
then peeled it back
like he wanted to see
if I still believed in mercy.

A dog’s teeth unzipped me
like I got bored of metaphors
and decided to speak in tendon.

No poetry. Just flesh.
Just cartilage and fear
and me holding my nose
like a dropped heirloom,
still warm.

No one tells you
how heavy your own skin feels
when it’s not holding you together.
When you have to carry it
like a question
you never wanted answered.

Later, in the mirror,
I told myself the story
with no adjectives.
Just nouns.
Just blood.
Just the new shape of my nose,
a crescent of punctures,
a crater like an in-ground pool.

And now I’m supposed to write poems.
As if language can cauterize.
As if I haven’t already buried
a thousand versions of myself
under lowercase lines
and half-apologies.

The doctor asked, “Was it provoked?”
And I didn’t know
if he meant the dog
or me.

Because I have spent
my whole life
provoking things into loving me
just enough
to ruin me.

I did not scream.
I’ve done this before.
Not with teeth.
But close.

The dog lunged like judgment.
Jaws clicking shut
around my future face.
Blood—an old language
I thought I’d forgotten—
spelled its name down my arm.

The man at urgent care said,
“You’re very calm.”
I said thank you.
I meant:
I know how to bleed quietly.

The doctor said,
“You’re lucky it didn’t take more.”
And I nodded.
Like that was comfort.
Like that wasn’t a prophecy.

My face folded
like a map that’s been touched
by too many hands,
headed toward too many things
that never happened.

I keep dreaming
the dog comes back.
But not like revenge.
Like confirmation.
He finds me again,
points to the place that never bruised,
and says,
Here. This is where it lives now.
Then opens his mouth
and finishes what he started.

I write stories in my mind—
illusions spun to keep the darkness
in my head at bay.
Stories of victory,
of rising,
of finally seeing.

I write poems that shred my soul,
words spilling raw from the wound.
Each line a whisper
to quiet the screaming child
that still lives in me.

I write songs that bloom with joy,
for others to sing,
to make me feel whole
if only for a moment.
Songs to hold the depression
just outside the door.

I write the words my heart exhales—
laced with pain
and bitter delight.
Each one a scream
disguised as verse,
so I can cry
without making a sound.

Once,
they handed her a map—
blank,
except for the words:
“You are here.”

But here kept shifting.
One day, it was sorrow
shaped like a fox
with silver fur and eyes like unspoken apologies.
The next, it was joy—
a balloon beast that floated just out of reach,
tied to a string knotted around her ribcage.

She wandered.

Through the Forest of Almosts,
past the Swamp of Not-Yets,
into the valley where shame
whispered her name backward
so she wouldn’t recognize herself.

She wore her fears like jewelry.
Polished it.
Let it glint in the dark.

She met Anger
It didn’t scream.
It built towers from her old voices
and dared her to climb
without a rope.

She met Silence, too—
it moved like fog
and tasted like metal.
It offered her tea
and made her weep into her own hands
without asking why.

And still, she walked.

One night,
the moon opened a door in the ground.
She fell into a forest
with no sky,
where trees grew upside-down
and every path looked like a wound.

At the center,
she found a mirror
half-buried in the belly of a tree.

It didn’t show her face.
It showed her story—
stitched from shadows and second chances,
frayed,
but still holding.

And for the first time,
she didn’t want to erase anything.

She folded the blank map
into a boat.
Set it in the river.
And walked home—
not knowing the way,
but knowing she was the compass.

If one day you break, too tired to cope,
And search the dark for hands of hope
Don’t reach for theirs, they come and go,
With fleeting warmth and faces you don’t know.

Just lift your left and find your right,
The one that’s stayed through every fight.
Your other hand, scarred, quiet, true
Has carried all that life gave you.

It wiped your tears when no one cared,
It held your chest when pain was bared.
No vow, no oath, no distant friend
Can match the grip it dares to lend.

So fold your fingers, let them bind,
And trust the touch you always find.
For storms may rage and trials descend
But none defeat the hand you lend.

The world breaks many, but never the one
Who learns to stand with hands of one.

every word i ever wrote is for you,
every breath i ever took is for you.
you're the version of me that lives on in my head,
kept alive by the lives that i haven't lived.
you're the reason why i'm still here.
i'm afraid,
i'm afraid of the stillness that captures the thoughts
and refuses to give them back.
there you are.
all these years between us, but there you are.
there i am, all alone, cold and terrified
of the day that will come, but i'm still here,
locked up in a room inside my mind.
you're alive, so alive despite everything,
and i owe you a second chance at life.
you're the reason why both of us aren't dead.
every breath i ever took is for you,
every word i ever wrote is for you.

I set track with this map of mismatch
That just tracks, and it stacks, and its lax,
On everyone — yet it drains, and it saps
The codex, the freakin’ stats of anyone who fights back
Try to relax, take a sip, but they snap
When I’m sad, like it’s bad, like I’m whack
Like I’m trash yet have the audacity to
bid no eye, and just wave and goodbye
To the ones who just **** up to you while I’m passin’ 'em by
And it’s always just them, and them, and again
And again and again man it pains me to bend — even then
I’m denied to take a stand, but ******* — enough is enough
Of this band — I’ma snap, I’ma crack, I’ma jest, I’ma Laugh
I’m this far away from the end of my thread
But I swear on the pain that I won’t let it end

For The years of torment, and the pains I couldn’t vent
You’ll feel till the end so just relax and repent
These verses are godsent, You fools better flinch, better **** in your pants.

And since birth, I’ve been cursed with this curse to just curse
And blurt this berserk and bizarre **** that works
And it helps in itself, it’s relief in the tension
That’s seepin’ through these sentences, stress in extension
That’s been eatin’ me recently off of my chest
And I still can’t even rest peacefully
No patience is in me, and if you offend me
I'm liftin' you ten feet in the air
I don't care who was there and who saw me, just jaw you
Go call you a lawyer, file you a lawsuit
I'll smile in the courtroom, and buy you a wardrobe
I'm tired of all you
I don't mean to be mean
But that's all I can be, it's just me
And I am whatever you think I’m not
If I wasn’t then why would I say I’m not
In the paper, the news everyday’s a ****
Everything I’m not made me everything I’m
                                                                    -Asher Graves