My body; a corpse with bullet wounds and slash marks.
You’re eyes; the knife cutting me down to the dirt of which you told me I belong.
You’re words;the bullet that rip through my confidence.
You’re tongue; the trigger I fearfully wait to be pulled.
You’re laugh; the smoke that I choke on.
My tears; the blood that never stops flowing.
My arms; the proof that I can hurt myself worse than you can.
My stomach; the empty pit where I store you’re words.
But, I know that my body is still changing.
And, these wounds will be a distant memory.
Eventually, you’re eyes will catch mine.
Your words will cease.
You’re tongue will break.
Your laugh will be silenced.
And, I will be okay
By Satura Dudley