I am so tired
Of swimming in the shadows of a man.
Exhausting my energy, depleting my power
Looking through his eyes,
Hearing through his ears
Raising up his backbone
To be chewed up and spit out
Vertebrae after vertebrae
After he consumes his sustenance.
No, my ears don’t want to hear
The stories of his wounds,
The tales he neatly fabricates
To justify his shitty behavior.
I deal with my trauma.
My wounds were open too but
I sewed my own stitches and
I brewed my own salve.
I don’t need to infect others with my demons
So I can pretend they didn’t come in with me.
So no, little baby-faced boy
With the skull decal on your motorcycle,
Thinking that “aloof” looks good
I’m not giving you my number.
You are a six-foot child
Wearing your wounds on your sleeve
And I’m not coming any closer
I can smell the blood from here.