by Myleena (John) Sevin

 

I barreled over on the pavement, laid flat,

scraped my knees to hell and back,

hands torn to pieces with rock bits.

Stifled my cries under weights of shame; it’s

crashing from being so high that hurts,

I thought I was mighty once, my exerts—

Could not be lowered by a crutch.

I climbed so high and it hurt so much.

 

There was a burning under my skin

beyond a cut or tear, searing of flesh; in

struggling to hold my blood in, to drag,

screaming behind my arms to gag

the fact that I’d gone down and lost more—

Than I gave; to avoid all where I was sore,

Ugly face with the dirt shoved between—

My slivers of skin, the rips in my shirt; unclean,

locked on the ground when I was eighteen.