every close call gets closer and closer
the scars on my arms are faded
one year later
and on my stomach add accent
for the few spectators
imperfect-art appreciators
my hair is growing in again
i blend into the crowd of possibility
for the rapists to choose from
their trembling hands unaware
of the reality that when they
strip me of my clothing
they strip me of my defenses
my strength, my pride, my recovery
the weight has shifted
some, slightly lifted off my frame
i once again resemble a woman
shapely and no longer hiding beneath my
fragile, fleshy armor
all this has changed
in 365 days
so how then, is it even a possibility
that i sit here tonight alone...
alone in the world
the cause of turmoil, of anger
a cold empty shell
ready to crack
contemplating taking all of those pills
i used to count on my desk
feeling the steering wheel pull me
toward every telephone pole
to die is irrational
suicide is illogical
i just need to sleep
for longer than the world will allow
i am supposed to have come so far
supposed to be standing so tall
look at me now! at how far ive come!
its all a fucking joke
and the jokes on me
the past walks in and out the door as it pleases
and i sit frozen praying she wont see me
wont know that i sit here
holding my cards close to my chest
knowing its just seconds until i fold
that maybe she was right
maybe i am crazy, maybe i am
destined for a dead end
my body is numb
only finds solace in sleep and food
no sex drive to speak of
temptation, just a fairytale
able to walk away from any kiss
envious of the erection just inches away
from the body that doesnt give a damn
the noises around me are too much to bear
laughter pierces like nails on a chalkboard
and i wonder again
how many pills it would take to keep me asleep
without landing me in the ER
or on a bathroom floor
imagine the surprise on peoples faces
the chaos that would ensue
"but she's come so far!"
"shes done so well for herself!"
tell it to the part of me that twitches
the part that wants to count those pills
to drag that blade
to crash that car
to find some peace
to find anything outside this feeling
this state of mind.
maybe she was right
maybe i am crazy.
after all, here i am
365 days later
one year later
and on my stomach add accent
for the few spectators
imperfect-art appreciators
my hair is growing in again
i blend into the crowd of possibility
for the rapists to choose from
their trembling hands unaware
of the reality that when they
strip me of my clothing
they strip me of my defenses
my strength, my pride, my recovery
the weight has shifted
some, slightly lifted off my frame
i once again resemble a woman
shapely and no longer hiding beneath my
fragile, fleshy armor
all this has changed
in 365 days
so how then, is it even a possibility
that i sit here tonight alone...
alone in the world
the cause of turmoil, of anger
a cold empty shell
ready to crack
contemplating taking all of those pills
i used to count on my desk
feeling the steering wheel pull me
toward every telephone pole
to die is irrational
suicide is illogical
i just need to sleep
for longer than the world will allow
i am supposed to have come so far
supposed to be standing so tall
look at me now! at how far ive come!
its all a fucking joke
and the jokes on me
the past walks in and out the door as it pleases
and i sit frozen praying she wont see me
wont know that i sit here
holding my cards close to my chest
knowing its just seconds until i fold
that maybe she was right
maybe i am crazy, maybe i am
destined for a dead end
my body is numb
only finds solace in sleep and food
no sex drive to speak of
temptation, just a fairytale
able to walk away from any kiss
envious of the erection just inches away
from the body that doesnt give a damn
the noises around me are too much to bear
laughter pierces like nails on a chalkboard
and i wonder again
how many pills it would take to keep me asleep
without landing me in the ER
or on a bathroom floor
imagine the surprise on peoples faces
the chaos that would ensue
"but she's come so far!"
"shes done so well for herself!"
tell it to the part of me that twitches
the part that wants to count those pills
to drag that blade
to crash that car
to find some peace
to find anything outside this feeling
this state of mind.
maybe she was right
maybe i am crazy.
after all, here i am
365 days later