queer-with-a-pen

counting by even numbers

there’s this thing i have

a way to cope with the

anxiety that even though i am

almost done with therapy

for as long as i like

is still a constant thing

 

you see, i count

by even numbers

maybe because ending

on an odd number

makes my breath puff

out before leaving my lungs

and my head starts to spin

 

i count evenly

on each inhale and exhale

the number of scars on my arm

the years i spent putting those scars there

the times my mother told me she never wanted kids

and how long it took me to get over that

before she went and said it again

 

and i count the times that

my mother has said sorry

though that takes less than all

five fingers on one hand

because the things that she has

not apologized for

still keep me up at night


like sending me to school

with fresh bruises in the shape

of her fingers wrapping around my upper arms

like chasing me up to my room and cornering me

and shaking me with spit landing on my face

from how much and how loud she was screaming

like trapping me up against the corner

and pressing her breasts up against my back

and grinding up against me

until i said “enough”

and she replied in swears and blaming me

like her basically sexually assaulting me was

somehow my fault

 

and when i told the counselor

at my school what had happened

after my friends agreed i should go

that led to my telling a cop through

sobs and so many tears what my mother

had done how she had used me

i counted the number of pills i had taken

two years prior

in an attempt to take my own life

and felt a feeling like i should have known

that forty wasn’t going to be enough