preening bottles of perfume, lined up on shelves, turning their necks like pageant queens, and we’re sifting through scents, turning smells like pages in books. i shake my head or nod, uncommitted to that, or arrogant to this. then i smell something from then, and it’s so fucking hard. i’m there again. i’m there! straight backed little girl with knocking knees and silent mouth, and under my red school uniform, i’m screaming. i’m in the bathroom with the bad girls, smoking and talking about blowjobs, and i thought about punching her in the face when she ridiculed a “naive one”, but oh, silent mouth. because all my life the firsts would be ruined with those doors kept closed with my crib for my baby dolls scooted in front. his melting blue face worse than unsolved mysteries or shark bites at sea. i wore my guilt laced through my hair, dirty unravelled ribbons, and the stings of a the wire end of the flyswat on the backs of my legs. looking into the sink back then, staring at my fuzzy reflection, silent, while punished for a crime that i wasn’t a part of…

above it all, i jumped off mountains, and ripped briars through my hands. above it all, i polished hate into smooth little stones. i know every bone, hair, and scratch on my self. i know every single story i’ve told. Every single life I’ve lived, i know how it feels to burn yourself alive; to be dead for so many years. and because of it now, i love. i love the flawed. i love the emptiness of my stomach, the wrinkles around his eyes, and the beauty of her dragging her crippled leg behind her. i love their lazy eyes, and i love their mushed brains. i love scars; i love the bruises. i love those shattered, with the hollow in the bends of the arm that holds a cupful of secrets that you’ll probably never know. because really, all these broken, all these survivors. They survive.