Air Conditioning

Heimlich Maneuver

Sometimes I write to get out the things I cannot say,
Because fear of them chokes me and smothers me and shoves and pushes-

And it's just easier to write than to talk.

Sometimes memories suffocate me,
And it's the best I can do to stay above water.

Move your legs a certain way and it hurts less, suddenly I'm not-

drowning in darkness and moving someone's legs over and over but being forced back into position, a position I'm not ready for but I'm still kissing him and he's pushing against me and I don't want this but I only tell him to stop once there's a tear falling across my cheek-

And I can breathe again, without ruining the moment with my choked demise.

But emotionally hurt me,
Laugh at me,
And it's inescapable.

A weight is tied to my foot then,
and it pulls me into the deep,
And there's water all around me,
And I'm choking on it.

I cannot speak my mind,
Or I will start to drown in my own tears.
I cannot text my mind,
Or I will begin to drown in my own hopelessness.

I hate to admit the scars he left on me.
It's my biggest insecurity,
What I hate about myself the most.

They cover me head to toe,
Waiting for someone to take a knife to them again,
And they may fade,
But they're still an angry, ugly red,

And I hate them.

I hate to admit my weakness,
Because the healed wounds I carry are evidence that I am not strong enough to escape the pain that was inflicted on me,

That I was too weak to get over it.

Why do I hold myself to that double standard?

Why is it when I am hurt, I am weak, but when others are hurt, they are strong?

Maybe it's because of the sheer amount of "I told you so"s, or maybe it's because my own stupidity is what got me covered in these twisting, gnarled things.

But I couldn't say this out loud,
Or over text,
Even if I wanted to.

And so I say it here.