Feeling Too Much

PEN ON FOREARM

I haven't written in a while

Let's see how scattered

these thoughts are

I write in pen so I 

can't take back words I've penned down.

Permanent. Life is permanent

I'm not in such a dark place

now

Just a cliché place

Where my secrets are my secrets and 

don't tear at my inside like a 

hidden beast flying through me

clawing at my flesh, my organs

blood red like the color

of this pen.

This pen smears.

My words are unclear

I could let them flow from my hands

They used to flow from my eyes

I spill Gatorade now — not water

sweeter & saltier & more, more human

How old am I now? I'm above 0

And less than 40

I'm old now, I'm a girl now

Before I was a human

Now I am almost more visceral

like slight touches under a blanket

at Girl Scout Camp, didn't count

Now it's how hard can you go 

How long can you last

Before it hurts too much to bring the knife

to your

I only did it once

and I could not convince myself

that I was worth a knife

Luckily pencil lead is graphite.

I can't see the scar anymore

I can only see the scar from the

cat that slit my forearm with its finger

6 months ago.

That scar is more lovely than my poison

ivy scars, than my throat's scars, because

I pet that cat once

Before it scratched me.