i. a smashed in window,
broken ankle throbbing,
i have pulled bits of glass from my palms
every day for a month.
ii. i always think that
people are staring at me.
i always look down, always avoid the eyes.
i have felt different for so long,
i have stayed up at night asking why
i can’t just be like everyone else
iii. a small bruise on my neck,
it’s easier to hide, to hide, to hide
i will get this under control eventually.
iv. tomorrow is coming
if you’re ready or not.
v. i touched your skin, curled myself up
to fit against your body, and
made myself breathe, breathe, breathe.
i will remember this for as long as i live.
i will remember that your voice
never trembled like it did on this night.
Julia Alexander is a part time poet and a full time crybaby. Her first book, The Dirt I Rise From was published in early 2015 by Paint Poetry Press. When she’s not too busy staring off into space, she runs Chipped Tooth Press, a small writing collective. Find more info at juliaalexanderpoetry.com