staring at my knuckles & the tattoos I don't have. a couple of small boats rock around at low tide. stepping on & cracking through sea ice & it's past midnight, late in winter. I had an idea that I'd quit drinking & move to st. johns or the states. because it was the straight edge me that felt complete & knew I'm not a liar.
but I lied when I put my hand on what was left of him & said "I love you". plastic wrapped stomach & rubber skin. you are dead & I don't love you like this.
I accept that my toes are always going to be cold & though I can't admit what that man did to me it was not my fault. I'm standing undressed, drunk. the books on vertebrates in my backpack don't tell me anything & my pockets are always wet from biking in the rain. theropods in print won't show me what to fix. if I still had the imagination I did when I was ten I'd pretend this was the south pole & would've never known that when I turned seventeen I'd run away to here. I throw rocks into the ocean & pretend that they are me. my stomach tries to eat itself & I sadly agree when it notices & reminds me I'm absent & empty. & how I want to be smart & not pacing up agricola looking for the safety in snow.
the girls you know have been raped by the boys that they trusted. it's unsaid. trap me in this body & call it disgusting. I regret ever believing that I was not worth it or sleeping pills & fake connections would be what I need to dream.
every scared syllable will come out of me like proud alphabet fireworks exploding.