24 it had only been

it had only been

a couple of months that

he and I

had been dating,

a couple of months of

unremitting

sneaking around,

begging to

leave

the house,

secretly to see

him;

where we spent our time

writing music,

talking vaguely,

never sharing a kiss,

only fumbling fingers,

barely intertwined.

It had only been

a couple of months that

broke me

into a mess of sinew,

a couple of

months

where

my Father

shook

his head,

my Mother’s foot

shook

over the gas pedal,

her knuckles white

against

the steering wheel.

She had caught us holding

hands.

She had caught the blood

rushing from

my face,

scorned in a pool

at my feet.

You have

no self-respect

to date

someone

like him,

Father,

weaving his daggers

beneath my skin,

leaving in shards that would

take me years to

remove.

 

We don’t want

you dating,

you need to focus

on more

important things,

 

Mother, allowing

double-standards and

looking the other way.

It had been

years of feeling small,

beneath

the thumb of a giant,

holding

the weight

upon my shoulders

while my knees pleaded

to give out.

But that weight would remain,

sludge and tar

stuck

in the marrow

of my porcelain bones,

eroding me.