draft

There are things that I won't recover.
Lost teddy bears
broken crayons
forgotten letters
bruises when I was five
blisters from the ringer bars.
There are things that I won't recover
and I'll have to move on.
A laugh
the way my mother's hand feels
in mine at the zoo.
Her palm too big for my hands to wrap themselves around.
The way a tiny finger could anchor a sinking ship
or the way a bottle keeps a note from destroying itself at sea.
There are things that I won't recover
and I know I need to move on.
Days spent in a sleepy stupor.
sometimes loud noises stir me from my sleep
and I wonder if it's her head or just a bottle thrown to the wall this time.
It's almost time for recess but instead of lunch
I feast on my friends lives and what dinner tastes like without
the smell of stale cigarettes blocking my sense of smell
and the only thing I'm ever hungry for anymore is a way to distract myself from my life and live in my own world of make believe.
It's recess but I'm only wanting to find boys my age to keep me company and fill what must surely be missing in my heart.
I don't know if I'll ever find what it is.
But things happen and I must move on.
I don't seem to keep friends for long
I can't anchor myself in one spot
because my hurricane mother lifts me with both arms and hurls me into a new region
a new path of destruction
and I'm angry.
I can't seem to smile anymore
I can't stop yelling
and screaming
and wishing I was anywhere but where I am.
I can't stop opening my mouth
because I'm jealous of the things they have
and if that's my sin,
then at least hell is far away from here.
But things happen and I must move on.
He broke my heart and gave the pieces to another girl
calling is jewelry, beads she can craft with
because she's "artistic" and that's something I never had
because I can paint beautiful pictures
but none are good enough if I can't bleed for him.