Poetry

Poetry

Slipping


If they let me leave this room,

I will die.

Weddings are miracles.

(so I’m told)

Filled with friends and family and cider

but I won’t have either.

They’ll only come out of pity.

I’ve always been a disgrace;

a charity case,

an empty vase,

torn up lace,

filled with jokes consumed of poor taste.

I was the kid everybody

took to Church.

(yes we all remember that kid)

As if Jesus could fix a person

that ruined lives

the day she first stole air.

I cannot be helped.

Okay.


I haven’t dealt with my rape.

When my mind sinks to that place

it is outpaced by every other

soul that stole my body.


The 6’4” man thrusts his hand

under my ass and squeezes.

My mind freezes.

He wields my body as he pleases

and not one student asks if I am okay.

I am not okay.


I lean in to shake a man’s hand.

He grabs it and kisses it…

…like he owns it.

I feel as though I cannot stand.


A friend says he would’ve liked to see the look on my face.

How can one be so far off-base?

Maybe, I’m that much of a disgrace.

I am not okay.


The day after my rape,

a floormate uses foundation

to cover the marks around my neck

.I told her I was okay.