Can you believe I am not a monster
that the screaming admissions of guilt
that attention-seeking, blameless, hateful
are only the result of imbalance, of upbringing

And can you learn to love
the person I think I might be
that in moments of calm, I still am

And I know you love me
in my party dress
with my feet bleeding on the floor
with my wine in hand, I am such a mess
but I am the mess you fell for

And sadness and bruises aren’t cute
when you reach twenty-four
so give me nine years, just nine more years
and I can be whole, I can be yours



Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “102.

  1. A response poem from a stranger:

    And forever,
    Knowing you’re what you say you aren’t,
    Knowing you’re more guilty than you know,
    And more beautiful than my eyes can guess.

    In the broken parts,
    Walking over the crunching glass,
    Of your dreams that never came true,
    My surgeon’s hands picking the shards out of your feet,
    As other hands did from mine.

    Not later,
    When you think I can’t,
    Because you know you can’t,
    And my strength is still a mystery.

    Mirrors are made from these bits of us,
    Reflecting truths I can’t describe,
    But you’ll see,
    When you know my secret.

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