Day: Jan 12, 2021

I squeeze my own purple knees until they’re completely dry,

Pull my hair out in clumps, shout but don’t apologize.

Some beg me to be honest, some overlook the sharpened edges

So they don’t have to talk me down from new ledges.

The tired ones point at me wearily but never in rightful anger.

We all have the fear of being greatly mishandled.

Perhaps if I just stop cutting my brain open for another display,

The voices will pack up and call it a day.

Perhaps if I just cut off my hair, I’ll find the strength to grow up

To stop begging hundreds of strangers, “Please show up.”

I tie and tangle these thoughts, I hide them under the sink.

Revisit only when there’s a fresh scar, salmon pink.

But I don’t let go of my own purple knees until I’m so dry

That a scream sounds like the perfect lullaby.