Writing

The dirty gravel path crunches under the tires of our Toyota. Dust rises around the car, blurring the tall vibrant trees hugging the road.

I am afraid.

It is a pale thing, 

for a dark body.

There are little particles 

of dried skin on my 

elbows and hips and knees

that are so white

he could only ever know 

I should be soaring sky high above the rafters

Crashing low against the waves

Burning like the sun but I will never be

Up there I will always be

Down here so

I'm bringing it

I'll tell you a story

Spending time

All my time

In the place that became home

And I have friends coming back to parents saying

"She's

Obsessed she won't leave

That room

She's

Spending all her time

There"

Conflict causes crazy

crisis, confuses me

until I'm numb.

Don't know what

I desire, asking the

question, "who am I, really?"

because I really want to know.

People's perceptions poke

You were supposed to be different.

The one that I didn’t have to give up on.

Someone that I could rely on.

But I turned my back and you chose her.

She who wounded me with words and threatened to do worse.