A Poem On Past Pain

Find the cracks in the wall

And the hairs stuck in the paint.

Stare at where the mirror used to be, 

Now you can see the ceiling 

When you look at the floor

And the bamboo boards

Have little scarlet dots on them.

Remember which was the shoebox

With more than just shoes,

Pull at the all too thick hair

Dead hair

Useless hair

Stupid hair.

Grab oversized thighs,

(Scarred thighs)

And undersized wrists.

(Guilty wrists)

Tear at fingernails

(Jagged fingernails,

Sharp fingernails)

And chew a hole in the bottom lip

(Bitch-face lips,

never-been-kissed lips).

I’m sorry that you don’t look

like the porcelain dolls, given to a child.

That the child cries.

That the child can’t be touched

(Cheeks, neck, legs, hands.)

Without thinking that’s all they are alive for.

Don’t ever touch me.

Disproportioned.

Jackets three sizes wrong; 

No jawline but see the collarbones,

Orange lashes and brows, but hair too.

Comment on tiny wrists 

Never see the shoulders.

Check out the ass and tits

But turn away at the sight of the stomach.

Embarrassment.

See hands covering regret.

See unstoppable laughter, hidden

Behind skeleton hands.

The same skeleton hands 

That raked the leaves from the yards

Of people’s hearts.

That hugged air, when thats all there was

After holding in the terror

Of innocence taken at fourteen years.

You took some things from me that I’d quite like back. But I know that can’t happen. Those events shaped me in ways I wish they hadn’t. And now my sister is the same age I was and it’s like living it all again because of the worry I feel that someone will do to her what you did to me.

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