VII Things

I. Number One
teetering at the foot of the railing

staring blankly at the bottomless pit rippling under me

the intertwining hues of blue and green

kissing & embracing, then cursing & beating each other

until the conflict for dominance resolves

to a raging, ravenous tint

tinged with the faint light reflecting off the streetlights

II. Number Two
seizing the frozen silver bar -

parallel and glimmering -

tracing the moist trails of tears

shaping the rotund, cylindrical shape

twisting

turning

thrusting

enters my reflection

tossed into all different directions

III. Number Three
a twinkle catches my gaze

radiating from a small speck in the sky

She gently turns my head upwards towards the beautiful source

beautiful.

ha.

what He called me as He allured me

what He called me as He held the razor to my angular collarbone

what He called me as He stroke my matted hair tainted with the blood

spurting from the stinging tear perpendicular to the

corner of my mouth

She was telling me to come to her,

to join her

IV. Number Four
my white nightgown

pranced about my haggard figure

no womanly curves

which He cursed and forced

to starve for a Coca-Cola shape

to starve for ironed, straight hair

to starve for His satisfaction

blinding me

cuffing me

choking me

to His image

to His threshold  

killing me

slowly

slowly

s

l

 o

   w

     l

      y

V. Number Five
my bra strap slid off

right off

oh so easily

oh so vulnerably

sliding past the consecutive

lineup of bruises

battered

tainted

unwanted

shameful

purplish scabs,

intricately inscribed

by the spurned backhands,

strikes,

flung to the ground,

layered by a picnic table pattern:

remnants of enraged attempts

to scratch away at my contaminated

skin:

the thin layer

that did so little

to guard me from the

beast

VI. Number Six
my hair caressing the nape of my neck

frighteningly resembling the

rough calloused fingers

crawling up my spine,

outlining each protruding bone,

followed by the thwacks

the final gale

stifles me

strikes me

inhale

exhale

inhale

exhale

merciless wind

pricking

pinching

punishing me for my wrongdoings:

for being weak

for being vulnerable

for being worthless

for being a girl

for being me

inhale

exhale

inhale

exhale

VII. Number Seven
a desperate climb

over the one barrier  

between me and my

final breath

until a desperate plea

rung in my ears -

so familiar

to the tongue,

a ferocious clutch on my wrist

the wind whipping

batches of hair

interweaved

interlaced

together

our eyes interlocked

but this time

the ferocity of the Devil

turned into the ferocity of the angel

i found a new Him

Him was my savior

my savior saved  

me

you’re beautiful

he said

you’re beautiful

he said

cutting my binds

throwing the razor away

feeding me my famish

reviving me

he saved me

Him