18.12.21
09:30
you tell a fifteen year old you love him when both of his legs are broken. you wake him up from surgery with chipotle, a morphine drip, and no way out. you string him up with steel cords, cut them when he learns to walk away. you aren't evil. you're desperate, my lover says, but how am i supposed to believe them when we're alone at the bottom of the river. you were supposed to take care of me, i say, over and over again. the words come out in bubbles, the current does not still. i'm not evil. i'm desperate. the muddy rush of the river is all i'm going to get. i remember the womb. the color of a human heart. the warmth, and the sound of swallowing. i remember the hospital and a woman who isn't my mother. who am i, i asked, feeling the blood drip down my throat. who am i. the woman held my face and cried, until wire grew from my fingernails and dragged me out the door. i left a trail of bone.
YOU ARE READING
words don't come that easy.
PoetryI've tried. but i've always failed to contain these thousand words in a few sentences, maybe im bad at expressing macro feelings in the few words that I'm limited to. you might think you know me enough because it's been a long time since i first wav...
