Your fingers burned me
So when they asked me for proof
I lifted up my dress.
They dusted my thighs for
Fingerprints
Like they would a burglary.
They told me to explain again
What had happened.
I told them  how you
Pried me open like
The doors of a
Closed convenience store
Gutted me like an
Abandoned house
Left me for dead like
A deer after the
Headlights
They said there was
Nothing
They could do
I told them how you
Emptied me like
An alcoholic at the bar
After years of sobriety
Stained me like
The glass windows
In your church
Broke me like
The mirrors you
Can't bare to look into
Anymore
Anymore
Anymore
I can't look in the mirror
Anymore
They asked me for proof
So I lifted up my dress
They dusted my thighs
For fingerprints
I swear were there
I see them
The third degree burns
Covering my legs
My neck
My chest
I told them how
You made me into a
Museum of art
I don't want to be a part
Of
You made me into a
Museum of mosaics
And tragedies
And other broken things
I told them how
You made me into
Railroad tracks
That I lie on and
Wait for a train
That never comes
I told them about
the burns you kissed
into my skin
the blisters that
throb and
pulse
like the heartbeat
I used to have
They asked me for proof
So I lifted up my dress
For fingerprints I swear
Were there
They dusted my thighs
Like the crime scene
They were
Like the crime scene
They are
They asked me if
I had any other proof
I told them about the
Flashbacks
About how any hands
On me feel like your
Hands
About how you
Stripped me
Both physically
And mentally
About how I begged
You to stop
About how you didn’t stop
They said there was
Nothing
They could do
They said they were
Sorry
I said
Me too

they call it self harm like you are the one hurting yourself. I can tell you that six months ago I was not the one carving hate into my skin. but people don't want to hear that. people don't want to hear that my skin has been razor free for half a year because that would mean razors have touched it. I know this because I told my best friend about my hobby and they are not my best friend anymore. people only want to be friends with survivors. no one wants to be around long sleeves regardless of the weather. no one wants to be around a rain cloud on a sunny day. no one wants to go on a drive with you if you always end up at the same bridge. you have to learn how to be your own best friend. you have to learn to put the razor down. you have to learn how to love yourself. you have to learn that scars heal and people change. six months ago I did not know this. I've learned I've changed and so can you.

For a portion of my life I’ve lived
Inside this little box
Where everything I do is safe
And this tragic life can rock
But fate, it seems, had other plans
And took it in her wake
And now I sit, weak and exposed
And feel like a mistake
I can’t seem to remember now
A time when life was good
The future gets no brighter
Only harder to endure
I miss my box, where everything
Was perfect and exact
Where nothing was ever scary
Where nothing ever attacked.
So as I curl up in a ball
And let the fear sink in
Don’t pity me, nor rescue
….. for I fear I’m dead within.

It’s funny
It’s strange
What things you remember
And what you don’t

If you asked me what I said to my aunt
When my grandfather died
That had upset her so much
Four years ago, I wouldn’t know what to tell you

But I’d know I felt guilty
It was probably something
About how we all knew she was playing it up
For attention

Which she was, but I still shouldn’t have said
What I did

If you asked me for a specific memory
From when I was four

I’d tell you about how
A dog bite me
And I had to get 13 stitches
And how my mom bought me soda after
Which was such a treat
Because I did such a good job sitting still
So they could sew up the wound

I’d even tell you that I bit first,
Because my grandfather thought
I’d understand his sarcasm
When he asked
“What do dogs taste like?”

(Hint: I didn’t understand,
Not at all)

It’s funny how
I can remember the time when I was 6
And I believed full heartedly in demons
And my mom came home late
So I momentarily believed
A demon had replaced her
(Thankfully, I quickly got over that delusion)

It’s funny how
I can remember making my cousin cry
When I was 14
And she was 7
By locking her in the bathroom
With the lights off
As I shouted
“****** Mary, ****** Mary, ****** Mary!”
Just to freak her out

But I can’t remember why I did
The things I have
I just remember the guilt

The guilt when I finally realized I could have
Seriously hurt the dog
And that she had been abused previously

The guilt of accusing my aunt

The waves of guilt
Crashing against me
When my cousin started sobbing

The relief of never telling mom
That I once thought a demon had
Replaced her

It seems
All I can remember about life
Are my regrets