Dumpster Psalms
I wrote this a few weeks ago.
Ive been away from them for years, a quiet kind of clean the kind no one claps for. I swore that version of myself into the ground, but they were still here. Not mine, hers. Hiding behind the cabinets. Three nights ago i threw them away. Not a ritual just a small quiet goodbye, to the girl who needed them. But then it came again, the sadness. Not a drizzle but the kind of rain that makes the earth give up, the kind that uproots homes and rips people apart. I hadnt felt it in so long that I almost forgot storms like that were possible. My body flinched like it had been found in the washed up debris. A voice low and sick suggests i go looking, just in case the trash hadnt been taken yet. "They are waiting for you to come back" I remember how they had made me disappear in a soft quiet way. I did not go. But I thought about it and I hated that i did. IM the one who threw them away. IM the one that chose to be awake in this unbearable skin. It scares me how fast my mind folds when it smells blood. I am better but better is not bulletproof, and healing isnt holy. Sometimes its just lasting out the sharpest hour with no reward. I sit here unprotected, rawness in girl form. Grieving a piece of myself that i know would have killed me. Will it ever leave? 