Xxxiii
Every time I pick up a pen
I think failure.
I think
addicted to a blade
shackled to a bottle
captivated by little pills
that hold my sanity in their capsules,
but today I want to write
strength.
I want to write
beautiful.
I want to write
Go ahead and try me again.
God made me more than a conqueror.
Because if dependence upon a blade
makes me weak,
I wonder
how I ever had the strength
to get up off my knees
at the age of five
when all I wanted to do
was lay down and die.
I’m writing courage
because even though he defiled my body
I survived.
I’m sick of writing
how much I hate what I’ve become
sick of blaming myself
for the abominations
that you and I performed.
I forget…
was it me or was it you?
Did I poison your youth, too?
Did I carve regret into your skin
when you were just a little kid?
Regardless,
today I carve perfection
because that’s what shows in my reflection.
I’ll trade you shoes
but won’t trade scars
because most are written on my heart
and not for one second
do you deserve to have
what brought me through this pain.
I hope the piece you stole from me
dances on your grave.
It must have been those bottles
that ruined me, right?
Not those visits I received so many times
during the night?
But if finding escape through a drink
makes me distorted,
I wonder
how I ever managed to turn
perverted kisses
into defiance
and taboo touches
into faith
that one day,
not I, but God,
would condemn you to your fate.
I’m writing forgive
so I can look at you and know
that I am the better man.
I’m writing confidence
so the next one of you that comes along
will be meeting my backhand.
Copyright © Josie Graves | Year Posted 2018
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