Bruelle by Bella Harris
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MemoryI’m still trying to make sense
of what he did to me but
it sounded like glass breaking.
It sounded like the collective sigh
of all of his former lovers
who will never stop looking
at me like they told me so.
It sounded like ominous
noises downstairs when you
are home alone. Like the scared
whisper of a woman well versed
I said that it was over
but he stayed the night anyway
and it looked like decaying
bodies on a battlefield,
soldiers who gave their lives
to a country that didn’t know
how to show respect for the dead.
It looked like the shock
on my father’s face when he saw
my pale arms embellished
with those black and blue roses.
It looked like lust turned bloody,
love turned pathetic.
I’m still trying to make sense
of the woman he made me into.
She feels like a wild thing.
Like the only princess that
never made it out of the tower,
like a dog that can’t stop flinching
at the sight of a newspaper.
She feels like an empty vessel.
Like once she was full of something
and once it was beautiful
but it escaped to a place
she can’t name or touch.
She feels like less than
whatever I am.
I lay her to rest everyday just
to feel alive.