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.