I’m Not Sorry Anymore

She remains, muttering the same two words
Bruises cover her delicate framework
Blood stained, on her scraped knees looking upward
How did she fall for his every small quirk?

Now she spends her useless time dressing wounds
Thinking back to the times before her love hurt
Her tears form lakes, depression all around
His hands always return to squeeze her heart

Electricity fills her crippled bones
Tension rises with the shake of her hands
She pleads, he screams without a change of tone
The air escapes her lungs with his commands

Her courage heightens for a mere moment
Left her life behind with one last movement

A Loose Definition of Okay

Tears stream down my face and you look
at me like you’re watching a lion that
escaped from the zoo, waiting for me to
attack. I’m not attacking, but you back
away slowly as I fall to the floor.
“Don’t worry,”
I say forcing a smile to appear on my face.
“I’m okay.”
But you roll your eyes, shake your head, and take another step back.
The tears won’t stop and you keep walking
backwards, step after step. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
I’m sorry you’re here to see this.
I’m sorry I can’t hide this.
I’m sorry I want to run away and never come back.
I’m sorry I thought I could make it through a train ride without crying.
I’m sorry I didn’t stay home by myself.
I’m sorry I ruin everything.
I’m sorry I’m ruining us.
I’m sorry I’m still here.
I’m sorry I’m still
alive.

You’re a million miles away now and I’m still stuck.
Sinking.
Into the ground where I’ve been standing.
Sinking.
I’m not stopping.
Sinking.
Drowning.
My head beneath the water.
Barely breathing.
Losing.
Losing myself in the knots tangling my thoughts.
Losing the smile I used to fake to keep them from questioning, to keep myself from crying.
Losing you.
Losing
me.
Suffocating.

I’ve reached the bottom of the ocean, but I can
still see you getting better.
I want you to get better.
I need you to get better.
Please get better.
Please don’t forget about me.
Because, truth is, I’m not okay.
I’m not okay. I’m not okay. I’m not okay.
I’m not fucking okay.
I just took my first step out of the house I built when I was 5 called
denial. Now I can see the
cuts on my hips that keep getting deeper.
I can see the weight I’ve lost since the last time I ate a real meal.
I can see.
Everything.
I’m not fucking okay.
I need help.
I need someone.
I need someone to stay.
I need
you.

Please come back.