I don’t know what to say about the beating.
I don’t know what to say about the fingers
about the secrets he used like knives
against my ghost skin.
I know what it’s like to be forgotten
but I can’t forget the sound of fists
the taste of bleeding lips and the flick
of a lighter, fumbling for a cigarette.
You wanted to hear about this:
I don’t know what to say about the sirens
the fluorescent lighting of the hospital
and the sound of my parents fighting
to be done with me.
Every day is a waterfall of feelings.
I can’t escape the kneeling
at the toilet
to rid myself of heaviness.
I don’t know what to tell you about the empty healing
and the people who weren’t listening
when I screamed the truth in clouded classrooms.
I dressed my sadness like a tomb,
a shrine to the holy: “forgive me”
and the holy feeling of a touch against my body.
I let lust give way to rebellion,
"forgive me, forgive me."
I don’t know how to describe the scars on my throat,
the lines drawn by distress and candy coated.
You are the only one who knows this.
I don’t know how to tell you I am not whole
but fragments of splintered wood and bits of trash.
I am a rash you can’t escape.
I am the crashing of two trains
in the night.
I don’t know how to tell you that I’ve never been alright
but today is better than the last
and I know I wanted to tell you that.