"I'm limp again."

My surprise at the readiness of those long fingers as they wrapped around my shoulder.

The boy who listened to my movement behind his sister's bedroom door,

and the way he laughed when I was crying.

The game I played with the boy I never really knew- Friday nights wasted in trembling.

While he prods and makes me feel guilty, I wonder how long it will last tonight, how long he will last, and I cry because I'm not ready, because I'm sick in my stomach and I'm a chest of drawers again.

"I'm limp again."

Your hands-

Your god damned hands, and the feeling of release they granted me.

Saved. Saved. Saved.

Save me.

Make me beautiful again.

Make me whole again.

Make me a person again.

Make me worthy.

Make me want again.

Make me desire again.

Give me back my organs, my beating, bleeding heart, my face, my fucking identity.


Tell me I'm not furniture.

Tell me I'm not hopeless.

Tell me that I'm not as lost as I feel.

Tell me that I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I'm okay.


Lift me up out of this.
I can't keep swimming on my own.
Oh, God.
Someone, help me.
Someone, save me.



You.

You all crept into me like strange, slow ghosts, and I invited you in. I let you poison me, I let you own me, and now you'll remain like some subtle disfiguration- a bent nose, a scar beneath my chin. When I look at myself in mirror, when I happen to glance at my reflection in the window, or in the surface of a spoon, I'll see you.

I'll see you until I die.


YOU DO NOT LIVE INSIDE OF MY MIND,

YOU LIVE BENEATH MY SKIN.