I have not posted in quite some time. Been having a lot of feelings lately and am reminded of this poem I wrote back in May.
TW: Sexual Abuse
Lost in Translation
Sun drops drip down my shoulder and I am cooled to the point of disaster.
I don’t know what I’m writing,
let alone how I feel.
Do you know who I am when I’m not here?
Could I possibly be any more alone when even I’ve left myself?
My body breathes, and how?
when I’m not even there to inhale?
Is numb a feeling or is it the absence
Truth is, what I never knew
I’ve known before
I don’t know how to feel anything but pain,
a dull queasiness seeping through my bones,
I wish I could remember
who taught me to feel this way
the first time I learned to leave my body
and let it feel whatever happened
while I didn’t have to feel a thing.
And the truth is
my body knows
and tries to tell me
and sometimes, maybe
I don’t want to listen
we don’t speak the same language
because it tells me things I never wanted to understand.
And maybe I never will.
is a Greek word
“lover of children”;
and to me
and my body,
that will never
So leave me to feel numb
because it makes more sense to me than the truth.
And if I ever understood
what makes some minds work the way they do
I’m not sure I could ever feel a thing again
and it would make about as much sense
as the sun making me feel cold
or a pedophile
being someone who was supposed to love me.