Forgive me for writing this.
"are you ready?"
I dont understand the question.
But I dont say that.
I say nothing still.
I twitch. I whimper. I flinch.
Its strange when sad little Ischelle attempts to put up a fight.
I couldnt say much if I wanted to.
Your hand has been keeping me from breathing for quite a while now,
and I am crying pathetically on the sheets.
My eyes, my arms, my heart..they sting.
These tears that I am crying,
I feel like they are drowning me.
It happened at work. Lie.
It was a complete accident. Lie.
Wow I didnt even see it there. Lie.
I cant even remember how it happened. Lie.
Im just worried the doctors wont fall for it this time.
I am not that girl anymore.
The one begging strangers, begging him
to leave her be, to let her sleep at 2AM.
I dont think I can be her again.
She is completely gone. And we have cut off all correspondence.
I never seem to learn.
It seems that mum is correct, I never ever seem to learn.
Sometimes it still becomes unknown to me that he is stronger.
That I eventually fall limp from exhaustion.
Who do I think I am?
The hands are always the same.
Rough, heavy.
My face seems to disappear and my mind soon follows.
His fingers always cold like steel.
Invasive yet completely impersonal.
I clench my teeth and my heartbeat hurts my ears.
bump bump bump
thump thump thump
fast
slow
fast fast
slow
Counting one, Counting two, Counting three, four five...
"Look at me Elly....look at me."
"Dont cry Elly...dont cry."
One hundred and eight, nine, ten.
When I open my eyes, the sheets stick to my skin.
The pillow cases are salty and wet.
I tremble and wrap the blankets closer.
This is when I truly wish to disappear.
To go meet this man by the name of God.
And ask him why.
And tell him my name is Ischelle.
Ischelle.
I dont understand the question.
But I dont say that.
I say nothing still.
I twitch. I whimper. I flinch.
Its strange when sad little Ischelle attempts to put up a fight.
I couldnt say much if I wanted to.
Your hand has been keeping me from breathing for quite a while now,
and I am crying pathetically on the sheets.
My eyes, my arms, my heart..they sting.
These tears that I am crying,
I feel like they are drowning me.
It happened at work. Lie.
It was a complete accident. Lie.
Wow I didnt even see it there. Lie.
I cant even remember how it happened. Lie.
Im just worried the doctors wont fall for it this time.
I am not that girl anymore.
The one begging strangers, begging him
to leave her be, to let her sleep at 2AM.
I dont think I can be her again.
She is completely gone. And we have cut off all correspondence.
I never seem to learn.
It seems that mum is correct, I never ever seem to learn.
Sometimes it still becomes unknown to me that he is stronger.
That I eventually fall limp from exhaustion.
Who do I think I am?
The hands are always the same.
Rough, heavy.
My face seems to disappear and my mind soon follows.
His fingers always cold like steel.
Invasive yet completely impersonal.
I clench my teeth and my heartbeat hurts my ears.
bump bump bump
thump thump thump
fast
slow
fast fast
slow
Counting one, Counting two, Counting three, four five...
"Look at me Elly....look at me."
"Dont cry Elly...dont cry."
One hundred and eight, nine, ten.
When I open my eyes, the sheets stick to my skin.
The pillow cases are salty and wet.
I tremble and wrap the blankets closer.
This is when I truly wish to disappear.
To go meet this man by the name of God.
And ask him why.
And tell him my name is Ischelle.
Ischelle.
6 Comments:
it is interesting to see how in your poetic disposition you make room for a countdown to the abstract...
keep writing ischelle...the last piece you wrote has a wayward heart.. beautiful
thank you for sharing your thoughts.. my best wishes for all your images and words... will you rush to save something precious when images and words collide? keep writing... write till all the books have fallen from the shelf...
Hi Ischelle
This line is really powerful
Its strange when sad little Ischelle attempts to put up a fight
and the last two lines are haunting.
It is amazing how open you are in your poetry.
I like getting caught up in the world you described and I was glad to rad the lines about you not being that girl anymore.
Bye for now,
Sara
ischelle of the flowerbeds and windowsills.. how can one write to you?
Powerful! Wondermous!
I am not sure if lack of sleep makes you crazy, but I do know you are right about getting some of your best work done on this late night/early mornings.
Thank you for the kind words on my blog.
Keep up the amazing thing you have going it here, it is truely inspiring.
Your poems are very powerful and you have a way with words and express them so openely and honestly. Keep writing.
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