I am crazy,
I have leopard’s skin where freckles used to be,
Burned indelibly by a thousand tortures-
Which my mind has placed on an eternal cycle
I pray that, if I can hurt myself just enough, I won’t fly away,
“Grounding” they call it, but it’s only ever a lottery.
Sometimes “I” fall asleep and someone, who wears my ill-fitting flesh,
Takes over; ruining children’s birthdays, writing on the walls in blood; and telling every secret we ever had.
Sometimes I wake up screaming- she likes to hurt me, far more than I hurt myself-
She burns and slices me as a reminder that she has control.
She only ever seems to spill my blood,
but each time I awake with dried blood all over me
I frantically pat myself down, looking for “safe cuts”,
“Safe” because they only happened to me,
“Safe” regardless of how deep she’s cut me or how fast I bleed.
The greatest tortures have been for my family,
seeing a loved one drowning and not knowing how to save them;
The second greatest casualty was when the world labelled me vulnerable-
I, who have lived and survived seasons in hell.
I, a care-giver; someone with a future;
someone who earned trust and resilience.
I, the safe pair of hands who overcame every odd;
Have now become a baby, a burden, a risk to myself, not to be trusted alone.
And the worst part is that they’re right-
Every second alone could leave me in danger.
I fear a season in hell can last forever