echo

I.
'what does she give you
that I can’t?’
he asks with an ugly leer
a thrust of his hips
and the tightening of

his fingers on my neck.
I reply,
'bruises i'm hiding
because i’m embarrassed
not ashamed.’

II.
they etched words into
my skin.
words that started with ‘stupid’
'bitch' and ended with
'fuck you' and 'goodbye'.
turning me blackandblueandgreen.
and i traced them
carefully
with indelible, permanent
marker.

because I didn’t know better
then to repeat
[echo]
their words back to them.
but mostly because
I knew they were right.
they always were.
and for once
I wanted to be
right.

III.
time is measured in breaths
I breath in[
if i could have chosen someone
i should have chosen someone
someone with less knees and
elbows and hard edges.
i should have chosen someone
softer.
less likely to hurt me
with their exits and entrances.
should have chosen someone
who would let me hide in their skin,
burrow into their warmth,
not someone
who would try to repair
my own and teach me to admire their hands.
] I breath out.

She slips into bed like a comma,
when I know she’s all exclamation point
fingering my scars carefully,
calling them war wounds.

She keeps trying to unwrap
unravel me.
undo years of
duct tape and hot glue gun.
the scotch tape work I’ve done
trying to stick myself
to something. to keep
my     self
to get her.