Aug 12

Letter to Sadness

by Olivia Pintair

Sometimes I wonder if you even remember.
If someone, something, like you has the capacity
to remember.
I wonder if you ever even knew that what you took wasn't yours,
what I gave wasn't for you,
that you weren't good enough,
nor evil enough
to know you were not good.
Tell me, what did I look like to you when you found me?
What did you see that you wanted to own
was it my freedom?
my home?
my hands?
my beauty?
Did I look beautiful to you?
And sometimes I wonder if you ever thought you
knew me.
If when you took my mind you thought you
took me
and though I don't know if you'll hear, I'll tell you right now
that emptying a child
of her light
of her hope
of her self
will kill her faster than you could ever learn to know her
and one day you'll see.
And one day you'll see
that your home is just a shell,
your home is just a body,
The heart in which you've been living
is an empty chest cavity
growing cold and tearing open
seams ripped, hinges hanging.
Hinges hanging
tired of being held shut
by people saying,
people saying be happy.
people saying that it's simple
but it's not simple
and nothing is simple
to a child who's got someone living inside her
who she never wanted
who she never understood.
Who's name she couldn't say because then it would choke her.
Because then, you would choke me.
Keep the words in, in, in, you would say.
as you let the life out, out, out.
But one day hinges will rust
and the metal will bend, looking bloody and naked.
Just a house
just a body
just a child
who's never wanted you,
who is tearing open her own chest,
just to let you out.
Hoping you'll leave.