you know / when i was eleven / i was scared to leave the house.

you know, when i was seven, i hated myself.

when i was thirteen, i put on the kettle to make tea and doubled over, unable to breathe. and i cried, and i cried, and i cried, because it all just felt like too much back then…

when i was six, i sat out in the hallway until the counsellor was there to put me back together again. but that’s not how it works. and i never really felt safe with her, in the end…

and / when i was eight / i almost ran away / because i broke one of our dinner plates by accident / and i thought you’d never look at me the same…

and so, you see, now we lie here. vintage ceramics and broken silverware, rotting away in the basement. where maybe just maybe, they’ll leave us be.

and / then i’ll be happy / really, truly happy /the sunlight flitting across my arms / telling stories of a past / that didn’t even happen / but i don’t care.

when i was ten, i think i finally started to understand. that life isn’t fair.