Cate

my brother steps around broken glass, sneakers soft on the wood.
the pastor’s words are soft, sugarcoated. 
i long to feel the golden rays of summer once more.
suffocating, is the leather string around my neck.

I let the lavender plant die.

It wilted,
then it dried
and it withered,
then it died.

I got sick of my clothes smelling like
your perfume,
wine red satin sheets that remind
me of your shampoo.

glossy blue bubbles, golden rays shine through the window.
i reach my fingers out, your soccer hoodie is pulled
up past my knuckles, resting over chipped orange nail polish.
wine red satin sheets, my phone is on my nightstand. 

only then.
a poem highlighting the life of an eating disordered teen. autobiographical.

i’m seven years old, sitting on ms.k’s alphabet rug on the dirty classroom floor.

please don’t get in my car.
i’m behind the wheel, foot on the gas
but the signs all blur
the red lights look green
as the brakes give out .

please don’t get in my car.
i don’t know how to drive

I am confined,

isolated,

but I am strong,

I know who I am,

I'm human.