Journey

They tell me to put one foot in front of the other
But why should I do that when I don’t know where I’m going?
Maybe they want me to wander forever
Alone, starving, a hollow-eyed husk of a girl

I tremble as brisk wind gusts my brittle frame
They take my heart apart carefully with surgical gloves and scalpels
Prodding poking pulling shredding
They collect my blood in vials and store them in neat rows on dusty shelves

I have always been too loud, too big, too much
I have always wanted to be nothing.
I whittle away at my body, carving off pieces of my sense of self
I was made from a broken mold but I’m trying so hard to smooth over the cracks

I press crescents into my palms with ragged nails
My knuckles are bruised the same violet as the circles under my eyes
I dig under my skin and rip it up in sheets, hanging them from a laundry line
This journey feels more like a nightmare

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