healing
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She has heardevery version of hell. Children whisperingwhat monsters didbehind locked doors. Women apologizingfor surviving. Men swallowing shamebecause someone taught themvictimhoodhad a gender. Still,she sits beside them. Still,she lowers her voiceinstead of raising it. Still,she looks into facesthat have forgottenhow to trust and gives themone thingthe world already stole— choice. There must be nightswhen every…
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There is always a roomwith no windows, a metal table,two chairs,a box of tissuessomeone keeps replacingbecause griefnever runs out. This is wherethe worst thingthat ever happened to youbecomes evidence. Where your shaking handsare asked for details. Where strangerswrite downthe color of the walls,the hour,the smell,the sound you madewhen you realizedno one was coming. And somehowyou…
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Do you always turnpersonal questionsinto jokes? Only when the truthhas teeth. Only when your handsget too closeto the locked drawerbehind my ribs. I learned youngthat laughtercan change the subjectbefore anyone noticesyou are bleeding. So I became funny. Quick enoughto make you laughbefore you could askwhy I flinched. Sharp enoughto turn concernback on itself. You ask…
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I dream of angelswith clean handsand mouths full of mercy, but morning always finds mewith smoke in my lungsand old ghostssleeping at the foot of my bed. I have begged heavento leave the porch light on,just once,so I could rememberwhat it feels liketo be expected somewhere. Instead,the dark knows my name. It curls beside melike…
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I used to thinkhome was a place— four walls,a locked door,laundry folded badlyon the back of the couch,toys multiplying overnightlike some tiny plastic curse. But I know better now. Home is this. A boy with messy hairand a grin too big for his faceholding his baby sisterlike she has always belongedinside the circle of his…
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For so long,home felt like a sentencemissing half its words. Beds madefor children sleeping somewhere else. Shoes by the doorthat did not belongto every pair of feetmy heart was counting. I kept listeningfor voices that weren’t there. Kept imaginingthe sound of all of themunder one roof again— the arguing,the laughing,the sudden crashfrom another roomfollowed byI’m…
Between Bruises & Blooms 