writer has the sneaking suspicion all of this

has something to do with how she stuck three fingers into herself

and all that came was a bad memory.

 

the last time writer successfully fingered

herself was two christmases ago. that was when

she hadn’t known a person could finger themself unsuccessfully.

 

writer lies on her back on the bedroom floor and speed-dates the ceiling tiles.

what’s your favorite color do you like to dance how’s your mom that kind of thing.

none of them call her back

but that’s fine she didn’t like any of them that much anyway.

writer sleeps on her side now.

 

writer texts her brother

hey remember that time our fish died

and i thought it had learned a trick

because it was floating belly-up and i was so excited

and then you said ‘no it’s just dead’?

 

writer’s brother texts her back immediately which means

he has his ringer on for her which means

he is scared for her.

lol that was fucked up we didn’t flush it we buried it instead
it was a whole thing and you cried

 

writer tries to poet herself back into her body, thinks

all survival is is putting distance between yourself and the hurting thing.

 

sometimes you have to bury it.

 

writer is on a mattress downstream;

it is a shitty lifeboat

but it is a lifeboat.

 

sometimes not.

 

confession: the thing that hurt me

was not my body. it was somebody else’s.

but my body is the thing that is hurting now. still.

i was very still. but it’s done now.

 

writer eventually finds her body stashed

behind the shower curtains. it is a murder scene

in reverse. the chalk outline gets up and has a balanced breakfast.
the drain pushes back at the blood
which was maybe not blood, depending on what you see.