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
Grab oversized thighs,
And undersized wrists.
Tear at fingernails
And chew a hole in the bottom lip
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.
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.
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.