Featured Image: Joe deSousa
White caps of snow on the roof,
pure and tranquil,
and maybe I will,
lay on this roof a little while longer
to numb the continuous hunger
of an eating binge that only serves to placate
the momentous desire to act preemptively
and seek an end
Until snide words can no longer reach my soul to corrode nor bend
Till for fear of my neurons imploding, I attack
my retorts are just stacks
of the journals holding the sentences you used to hurt me
and when my friends seem to desert me
and there is no one left to talk to
on the edge of this empty Sunday morning
I can go into mourning
and contemplate
all the things in life I appreciate
in opposition to all the moments I was thrown into
this flooded cell
this dollhouse hell
While they are running
ahead in life
I can’t find the strength to crawl
next to the closest wall
and cry
or turn my face
so mom and dad don’t have to see
or worry
that my visions for the future have gotten blurry
They are the jury
I’m telling you now that I cannot accept the sentence
There isn’t much time to make up
for a childhood you couldn’t cough up
and I can’t blame you
those years were hard on you too
but hush money
and the altered narratives that I can’t count
can’t account
for 16 years
of anxiety, tears
of nights when I got hit so hard
that my scars became colouring books
and you filled it in
with your frustration and anger
striped lines from coat hangers
In those days I was that calm
that would forgive you and hold you with small bruised arms
and tell you it’s ok, just think of the day
and the promises it holds
and you would hold
my arms
and lean down to apologetically kiss my head
before turning to go to bed
and now I am you
I am burned
and I turn
and there are no arms
just condescending anecdotes
from people who
overestimate the limits of resilience
who don’t know the terror
of the middle of the night
when you are left with the shame, the rewound memory of every fight
and a mind that only knows
how to prepare for disappointment and hurt
told it is worth less than the dirt
that those who will accomplish more
tread on
and I dive into these prophecies
head-on
Left in devastation
what happens in the situation
that I don’t make it
because I barely can grasp
my headboard and find the strength
to get up in the morning
Deciding if the drink is worth taking
if it can subside the aching
when my bones are breaking
under the sheer weight of these expectations that only consume
and spit out the crumbling remains
of my indifference racked physique, growing frailer as it ages
because an identity can only be contained for so long
before it longs to reach out and scream
Notice me
just notice me
I’m weak from the wounds that won’t bleed,
but seem to run thin
every ounce of humor I can find
until my confident facade and teetering reserve of pride run dry
why don’t you just notice me
And yet,
they always chime “goodnight”
shutting out the light
on the request
that I beg for in these ever quieting words
They’ve probably got
their own problems too,
that’s ok, I got the cue,
but I will not back the claim
when they maintain that they were a friend
because they weren’t
not then
not when I was losing my ground
and the only fate drawing near
was this sadistic art
of manipulating the heart
back into the shape
of an ornament that would serve to please
while the lungs were pressed
until the air was gone
through the holes
where others borrowed the pieces
and never put them back
and now they breathe
while I gasp for the air
that turns toxic every time I need it
to hell with it, I’ll just deplete it
and see how long I can last
before my lips turn blue
and I sink through the cracks
of a ground that cannot hold me upright
and swallows the flickering light.