twenty-one in poems

sometimes late at night when i’ve had too much fear to drink i wish you had hurt me
physically, i mean
the kind of hurt that leaves bodies and trails
scratches and slaps and bruises on arms or hidden beneath bulky sweaters

i’ve hidden marks before, you see
keeping eyes behind sunglasses and makeup on neck marks
where fingers left little flowering reminders
of when pain and kisses lined my skin

but you left no real evidence.

you were so careful in the words you wrote and spoke
that when i finally fled from your palace
i had nothing left to show for the newfound wounds i had in my soul
just some invisible words that appeared so benign
unless you knew how to speak your unique flavour of abuse

How can I prove what you did when you knew what you were doing
a dance you had created intricate steps to
and taught me how to waltz,
spinning round and round beneath a crumbling chandelier
that promised to fall if i stopped

but i keep reading the messages
flipping them over in my hands hoping there are worms beneath
that will wriggle when i put their living guts onto a hook
dangle it in the waters of public opinion
and wait for you to bite.

it always sounds like a tall tale
“it was this big”
i will say, gesturing to the empty space inside me

“big enough to break me”