Ten Memories From the Summer of '17

i.

he carved his name into my bones

with claws under which

my flesh festered.

no matter how long

i leave my bones to rot,

his name will never fade.

 

ii.

he tore holes in my stomach

like he did with my mind,

both leaking acid

and burning through anything

that i sought to preserve

 

iii.

i do not remember what day it was

 

iv.

there is more to me

than the parts he touched

and the scars he left,

but some days i am only

the leftovers of his meal,

half of a whole,

the phantom pain of a limb lost.

 

v.

my nails are still

peeled back from their

bedding of flesh,

cracked and broken

from scrabbling against linens

like concrete.

he rubbed my cheek raw

against the grain

of that polyester sidewalk,

held me down as filth

filled my lungs and i

cracked my teeth

against screams

 

vi.

i do not remember how i got home

 

vii.

he told me not to cry.

he said he wanted

to keep me as his own.

a toy to play with

when his wife got boring.

“right out of the box,”

he called me,

“collector’s edition.

my sweet little doll

to pose and ruin as i wish”

 

viii.

you have turned me

into a rabid animal.

i have taken to myself

with my own hands,

tearing into my own body

in an attempt

to cleanse myself of you,

to rid myself of your rotting stink.

 

ix.

i am ashamed to admit

that you have stayed with me this long,

that you have affected me this much;

driving me to break my own bones,

rend my own flesh.

my claws are starting to look like yours now.

 

x.

i cannot remember your name

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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