And it has been
of a year.
I have worn
under my sleeves,
on my thighs,
running down my cheeks.
This is what
looks like, my dear.
they teach anatomy using
blue for veins and red for arteries.
they draw four boxes and say,
this is how the heart looks.
they don’t teach you how to hold
pound for pound,
flesh for flesh,
or how to stop unpicking
sinew for sinew,
vein for vein.
i only know that my spine
is made of twenty six bones,
my hands fifty four,
and that i don’t need
scalpels or scissors
to make myself sore.
"lessons to relearn", hafsa atique
1. He smells like the first day of winter and my bones are sick of rattling in the cold.
2. Sometimes he sits so still, and I can’t understand it because I haven’t stopped moving since I learned how.
3. He’s so soft spoken that when he speaks every fiber in my being quiets, and all I’ve ever known is noise.
4. He does everything slow paced and patient and I’ve been hurtling towards the finish line since my day of birth.
5. Because when I traced his collar bones he shivered, and said he could feel my cold.
Charlotte Geier, 5 Reasons (Excuses) Why I Can’t Ever Love Him
if anyone else
were to kiss me, all they would taste
is your name.
There is a shipwreck between your ribs. You are a box with
fragile written on it, and so many people have not handled you
And for the first time, I understand that I will never know
how to apologize for being
one of them.
“What It Took To Understand,” Shinji Moon (via zvlf