i dont know who i am.
Im trying to look at myself in the bathroom mirror, but the showers running and the glass is all foggy.
I´ve spent so much time trying to become wo I should be that I lost myself along the way.
I cannot tell you who I loved,
or where, or when, or why;
i dont rememeber first encounters,
only each goodbye.
I push away a feeling passed once I know its gone.
Its far too painfull, once at dusk, to think back on the dawn.
i am crowded in an empty room.
I guess its the silence,
the emptiness,
the nothingness.
it pushes on me.
it tells me " you take up too much"
space.
I reply,
I know.
in my dream i feel his hands on me. when i wake up, I check for new bruises shaped like his fingertips.
whenever I walk by him I instinctively drag down my sleeves, pull my hoodie tighter.
the body he stained is always on display.
i scrub my skin a little too hard in the shower, trying to get him off me, trying to shed any cell on my body he might have touched.
sometimes i scratch.
sometimes i peel.
sometimes i bleed.
this is the poem I never wanted to write. because writing makes it real,
concrete,
immortal,
and i dont want this memory on paper.
I only want it erased.