I haven’t been able to speak in a while, but tonight, tonight is different. I write to you because I hurt. My body aches with a longing to shudder. My spine curls in to the shape of my rounded back. My cheeks long to feel the dusty, rough carpet.
Tonight I writhe because what I thought was hope, found in the ability to finally grip something again,
is being pried loose from my hand and severed, cutting open the veins that lead straight to the pulsating drum in my chest.
I hurt because I can sense my body, no longer willing to quietly comply to my gentle corrections
and my mind, slowly giving up any new found pride, no longer concerned with saving face before the fall.
A pain so twisted and deep, even tears refuse to acknowledge
and so tonight, I come to you with a heavy heart. Hopeful you can say something, be something, true something, heart something,
that will take away this agony from me, and fix me back up from the inside.
because God knows I absolutely cannot swim through this storm (and not drown) once more.