(no subject)
i roll over onto my back, my head hanging over the edge of the bed. the television flickers over my limp body and i feel the blood rush to my temples.
the mattress we dragged off the street is decent, the stolen cable comes in crystal clear.
i have come from such bitter, bitter privilege. growing up i could afford to have ideas, opinions. we had air conditioning in my mother's bedroom and books on all the shelves.
and yet every month i bleed like a stuck pig. i remember the way she grabbed my arm, pulling my bare feet over our wall-to-wall carpeting. i remember the way my face felt, cold and swollen against the pane of the car window, their voices drowned out by the vibration of the glass. my shoulders ache and i wake up ashamed, blood between my legs.
trey grabs my foot and rubs it against his cheek; the stubble tickles and i shriek. he kisses my leg and i relax, his eyes closed so sweetly and i smile.
i remember the way he grabbed my arm on the street, his face contorting as i screamed at him, my voice blurry and weird through my tears and snot. i remember the way my face felt against my knees, the smell of grease and motor oil in my nostrils. those stolen cars lit up like whale skeletons, their metal bones silhouetted against passing traffic.
as a child the guilt was fresh- wrapped around my bones like a copper wire, i was tight and tense at the core, i was tuned and deeply afraid.
the bleeding will stop and once again i will be reborn-
i have nothing to prove-
i can speak and i am ready to sing.
the mattress we dragged off the street is decent, the stolen cable comes in crystal clear.
i have come from such bitter, bitter privilege. growing up i could afford to have ideas, opinions. we had air conditioning in my mother's bedroom and books on all the shelves.
and yet every month i bleed like a stuck pig. i remember the way she grabbed my arm, pulling my bare feet over our wall-to-wall carpeting. i remember the way my face felt, cold and swollen against the pane of the car window, their voices drowned out by the vibration of the glass. my shoulders ache and i wake up ashamed, blood between my legs.
trey grabs my foot and rubs it against his cheek; the stubble tickles and i shriek. he kisses my leg and i relax, his eyes closed so sweetly and i smile.
i remember the way he grabbed my arm on the street, his face contorting as i screamed at him, my voice blurry and weird through my tears and snot. i remember the way my face felt against my knees, the smell of grease and motor oil in my nostrils. those stolen cars lit up like whale skeletons, their metal bones silhouetted against passing traffic.
as a child the guilt was fresh- wrapped around my bones like a copper wire, i was tight and tense at the core, i was tuned and deeply afraid.
the bleeding will stop and once again i will be reborn-
i have nothing to prove-
i can speak and i am ready to sing.