I'll Lose You in the Stars

I Think I Died That Day

I think I died that day.

And it wasn't that night in the fifth grade, when I realized that my world was as weak as a whisper.
It wasn't my first year of college, when that man made a maze of my mind that I got lost in.
In fact, It wasn't anytime when I watched the flame of life flicker and falter, gasp for growth.

It was that night inside of my closest, the night before Christmas Eve,
that night when you scissored our ties that I had been convinced were so treasured.

Dear God,
How can I even begin to describe the pain, the injustice that you inflicted upon me?
The little eight year old girl inside of me,
the one who so willingly trusted you and so desperately loved you from the start despite
the countless times you sawed at her soul,
is struggling to prevent me from
screaming,
healing,
because she still can't accept the betrayal in your bones
and the meanness of your make.

Years later and I still awake from nightmares
that are born of more memories than far away fears
of you who called yourself my sister,
burning me to the ground,
and while I'm burning, I see all those other faces,
those frightening faces I trusted you with,
which you've conjured up from former arsons,
using your witchcraft to denounce she who
made your magic stir within you.

The you that was a part of me was amputated that day
but I still suffer from the spasms brought about by the phantom pains
and I slowly drip, drain between the hard press of dead and gone,
letting myself succumb to the abnormally present and concerningly stringent sting,
clutching, staring at these stains that wouldn't be in allowed in the presence of my God,
turning my face away from my savior because if I choose to believe for these wounds to be remedied
I must choose to believe that you so readily disfigured me,
and so I curl away from the sun and decide,

I think I died that day.