dolorousbells

[dolorousbells]

*****TW: ED, SA poem*****

When I was 14, my fingers down my throat,

I thought I found God in a toilet bowl! I thought I

found the answer to a question

no one asked.

***

But I grew up.

my eating disorder became more

pesky than poetic, more tedious than tragic.

And I've tried so hard to be

*a girl who goes to the gym* or a *girl who doesn't cry so much* or *a girl who listens to DavidBowie instead of TrashRap.*

And sometimes, when I'm alone,

I can still feel his hands on my body. And I feel

dirty. And I feel wrong. And I feel less

than everyone around me.

Firehose memories remind me of who I am:

beating my skin as all around me, drink,

from a garden hose.

There was a time when I loved my dad

like I love dried apricots:

the color of apricots and the smell of Marlboro

Reds: "cowboy killers" and you.

***

When I started screaming in my sleep, my mom

asked, "Is your dad doing something to you?"

And the tears in her eyes were fat and I cried...

because I wanted her blonde hair, blue eyes.

And I didn't want to be so broken. For her.

The worst part of not knowing is feeling dirty,

feeling wrong, feeling less than.

***

God! I wish I missed you,

instead of him and him (and him and him and

him?) I'm sorry when

I tell you, "I love you" that I'm not sure

what that means.

***

I haven't felt love for any of these men like I felt for you. Your crowded, secondchildroom filled with flowers and heart-shaped sunglasses. Holding your hand: your long, thin fingers in mine: how fascinated I was with your shade of pale pink. Almost kissing in front of suburban, teenage boys to watch their reaction. Caring not about them, but if their beautiful, suburban moms loved us. Falling asleep in your arms.

***

But I grew up.