me and december 01. 2014 (cont.)
you are holding me close to your cheek and i can feel that your cheeks are warm and i remember when i was fifteen and you held me to your breast after i had been knocked down in the kitchen after i had tried to escape – you were soothing – unlike the beasts that had knocked me down and put their knees into my back. you held me there like i was a baby and rocked me. we stayed there for maybe an hour. you told me everything was going to be okay. you asked me everything that was wrong and i told you.
…i had to escape because that man was going to kill me…
…i was eating my food, sliding my plastic spoon into my pocket, and then going into the bathroom where i could choke myself until i could throw up. sometimes i even saw my medication floating in the toilet…
…i didn’t belong here. no more…
…the doctors were making things up…
…three months i had been there. away from everything. i wanted to leave and i couldn’t leave and i never wanted to leave because i felt comfortable and this was easy for me know…
…if they let me out i would kill myself. i knew this…
and she listened to everything. and she rocked me back and forth. i could feel the bruise on my side from when they tackled me growing and growing and i was afraid to look at it.
‘let me see,’ she said, and she lifted up the side of my shirt. it was yellow, purple, a disgusting and shameful pain. i almost hoped that she would kiss it, but i knew she wouldn’t couldn’t.
i might have written poem about her after i was sent back to my bed – i knew i drew her silhouette on the ceiling – all the lights turned on and i was subject to fifteen minute checks in case i had a wild idea about trying to escape again. i had no reason to. the man with the knife and the bad breath was no longer staring at me with hit snake smile and his yellow broken shitty rotten teeth.
some months later i found myself walking across a bridge. stopped. looked over the side directly into houston rush hour.
and what stopped me was the idea that somebody else was going to have to live with my decision for the rest of their life. nothing their fault. but that does nothing to help melt the guilt away. and i could never do that to another person.
*sigh*
it’s too late. i sympathize. but at least try. you know?
my saxophone skills could use some work – bucket list.
alltheavenueslookugly 