(half-lives and past lives)
once i painted the sky red because the blue paint
didn't punch a hole in my gut like it used to before.
let me begin again.
let me begin again. once i let the image of a man promise
to drag me by the scruff of my neck and hang my limbs
from the yellow floral curtains of my old bedroom.
once, once i wrote a poem all wrong where the words
flinched, flinched, cinched in place until their little souls
laughed at the grey misery
laughed at the grey misery that took our bones hostage.
once someone had it easier than you did.
once, we did not grow in another's silhouette.
once, the only mistake i made was
not leaving enough space for winter to stretch its arms
through my yellow curtains.
through my yellow curtains. yellow is not a happy colour.
once, we are at sixteen,
once, we are at sixteen, we are already dead and buried.
once, we are at sixteen, we are already dead and buried. (i.n.)