I go to Ikea after being forced to confront my childhood sexual trauma over the phone with my mother.
the mug is grey.
it is short and round.
contemporary almost.
I have not used it.
it sits buried on a shelf in the kitchen
and I fear the day someone touches it
like it is going to suddenly explode.
I am here for a wardrobe.
a set of cabinets that will help
me arrange my life
organize myself and belongings
finally, be free of the clutter on my floor
my mother's voice echoing
through the empty showcases
"Why didn't you tell me? I specifically asked you if anything had happened."
you are the kettle to my black pot.
my body is slowly shaking apart
the silence of the word, "what?"
whispered into a cellphone
listening ears all around
a star collapsing into itself
a black hole forming
she has no right.
she has no right.
each step is heavy
act normal.
make a joke.
laugh. make eye contact.
there are marks on my skin that have been uncovered
can you see the flesh? the bones, the puss-filled maggots
can you smell it now?
put your hand in my side, and know the real me.
there is a future I will never get the chance to have
buried in the back of a bathroom shelf organizer
and the concept of a headboard.
and that's the worst part of it now
-the want.
I want
for the first time in over twenty years I want
and I hate the wounded animal living in my skin
it's so needy.
it is not kind.
nobody wants that.
nobody.
I am so far from okay
I am standing on top of it
in a different plane of existence
looking at it
but unable to touch it.
have you ever wanted to die?
I wonder what it's like
to not feel,
but I remind myself
I've been there before,
and if I dont stop bleeding soon
I will have to see a doctor.
and they will open me up
look at my clockwork insides
the schematic instructions
for what a human should be set up
beside me on the table
and they will say,
yes, this ones broken.
they will poke and prod
and listen with a stethoscope.
my clockwork rhythm out of tune
skipping a beat,
"I am fine" I will say
"I have always been like this"
and I don't know if that's the sad part
that I know what unfixable means
or that I got so used to it,
I just assumed that's what music sounded like.