of being a person;
a poem, originally written in December 2022
there’s a specific kind of love that stains your skin like a disease
the kind of love that was only ever spoken above a mattress
the one that cracks your skull open and point out all the damage it possess
the love that has your brain scattered on the floor and have you on your knees trying to find where the right piece belongs
the one that breaks your bones
and whatever girlhood left in you
for months my skin smelled like smoke and shame
i did my very best to wash you away
i cut the hair you grabbed, the nails that gripped the sheets
i did everything to make sure you can never enter my system again
when i met him the first time my hands were blistered and worn from all the ways i’ve tried to erase and undo what you did
the second time around, i figured out why falling can mean something good and right
i only ever felt like a girl when i was under you
but he makes me feel like a person
time does not heal, time lets you break over and over again until your bones find the right way to fall without shattering
i will always have wounds but no more of those that bleed
one day when i am whole,
i will remember my scattered brain and my cracked skull
and remember why i am a person
