I swallowed all of my memories;
inhaling her first white pill
at parties that once upon a time
I had a dream once
that I thought myself to be
a wise women
in my adulthood
I dosed through my teens.
I don't like to think back now,
finding my notebooks and journals a bore-
And still now years later
the question still dances across my lips;
in my ballet class.
I felt disjointed once;
in a jaded white shirt and jeans
at the thought of this first kiss
which I fell into his arms for.
Swallowing my memories
I hate to think back
with all that I still lack
from those brittle pages
and the well worn swiftness of my penmanship.
I remember that I kept a picture of him on my nightstand
and kissed it
with rose colored lips each night before closing my eyes to sleep.
I can tell you that I once brushed my fingers across the Madonna's cheeks
that she in all her pureness
could somehow purify me as well.
I can tell you nothing of the last five years
of hazy monologues
and phone calls:
"I can take care of myself"
the line went dead.
I move aside
within the bathwater
that I am contained in.
in the cooling water
his breath breathing kisses on my black-lined eyelashes.
I want to tell you...
I want to write it
but the noise
I want to say how much I loved him
but the thought seems meaningless now.
How my heart
at age thirteen
had been awakened
only to be murdered once more.
that is my fate,
all those who destroy me.
To kiss the lips
of one more bleeding boy-
I have never slept with a man
but their hearts always clothed-
Black fingernail polished dreams
to turn the water off.
I turn the pages
as he sleeps on my bed;
the same bed that I lost my virginity in.
I do not know what I will find
in these alien paragraphs
that my hands once wrote out.
the fifteen year old who wrote them.
I swallowed my past
in the shallow gulps of a drowning women
in the surrender that I have never truly been unhappy.
I could tell you that my pulse quickened
that my heart
once so brittle
has hardened to a respectable metal
that even I could not name
and neatly comfortable
should you chose to place your trust in it.
If you saw me walking down the street you wouldn't even guess that you had seen me.
If I were no more then five feet away from you
reading these verses
that had been
scribbled on a napkin
with fuzzy red ink
at a restaurant while I hid in the bathroom stall
you would not know me.
As though my eyes were not a dead give away,
I can't even look at them in the mirror anymore
at their coldness
to a child
attracts broken people.
like a stroke victim
to find peace with the harsher side of myself
with exists jointly with the lightness.
Their will always be a shadow to my smile
and a pin prick
to my voice
but peace of mind
can only come with the completion
of ones own self.