I Couldn't Tell You If I Met Myself or Lost Myself That Day

I dreamt of the old tear in the stitching of skin and the struggle of position again    
but wake up to no blood                                    
                                   
I can smell the sweat- but the bodies are nowhere to be seen                                    
                                   
The bastard deceived me and found not only his sweat    
but his pores into my dreams                                
                                   
He disturbed the morning with hate and killed the child in my laughter    
with the brutality of his- desire                                             
                                   
To fuel the sculpture of his fire, he threw me into the flames                      
What a masterpiece of me he thinks he's made            
             
When I die, I will have died twice                          
                                   
Even after he is done            
I will feel its warmth of pain                                    
                                   
I open all the windows and bathe until the water turns me blue                                    
                                   
After the deed of unraveling trust and organs,    
the thief licked my wounds with contrived passion and the promise of admiration                                 
   
And I spit in them    
                                  
I let them heal                                
Until I could no longer stand to be whole    
when I no longer felt like I was                                    
               
His car rolls to a slow stop-      
And quickly he drops off what's left of my body    
and the little humanity left hiding deep in the marrow                      
           
On the forming craters of faulty foundation,    
I looked in and thought, I've found myself                        
In those craters of crumbling cement- I found myself hiding                        
   
I found my heart and my head in the most company of myself that I had ever been            
           
And it terrified me                                  
How badly it pushed me to get away from      
Myself                          
                         
I showered in a rain of boiling and felt nothing    
I could've stayed in that moment forever- and it not felt like enough                                  
                                   
Sometimes, I still do                               
                                   
Some mornings I trip over the body                                   
Over the girl that is covered in the mess of blood and shit-    
Still blue with the bruise in her rectum and the bite of a coward's tongue    
A shameful discovery                                  
                                   
The relapse of blame feeds the feast and the dirt of rape to my consciousness            
           
Whenever I feel close to,            
Forgiveness                                  
                                   
When I get close to forgiving the air for just watching,    
for feeding his lungs                               
                                   
When I get close to forgiving the mornings for still shining,    
for owning a sun                                 
   
When I get close to forgiving my own hands for reaching for the sharp-            
for helping destroy what felt like the little amount of canvas he left me with                                 
                                   
For even when I get close to saying,                                  
I love you                                    
                                   
In the most desperate moments of needing to forget,    
I hate that body for hiding    
That lovely song that grew to be silent                        
                                   
And still, I understand                                   
   
I love her when no one else does                                  
When she hates herself and picks at the scabs that have healed                                   
I still clean the wounds                                    
                                   
I used to not touch her    
I thought it was best to let her heal herself                                  
That even the touch of my own was- unwanted                          
                                   
Until I realized I too was burying her alive,    
refusing to hear her scream                                  
   
So, I let her scream, I scream louder                                  
                                   
And after,    
With only hands of gentle    
              
I bathe the dirt and shame off her battered body                                  
I comb the pulling out of her hair                                    
I rinse away the eyes rolling back into themselves and the blackout from the pain that followed from her flushed face       
I scrub the pressure of his body off her back    
Watch the watercolors of shit and blood dance down the drain                
I pick out all the lint and struggle from the belly of her throat    
and from under the bent structure of her nails                                  
                                   
I carry her body and her name to her own bed                                    
Tuck her in and read to her                                  
                                   
If she wants,    
only if she wants                                  
                                   
Some nights we just lay and admire the quiet                    
The touch of absence                                 
                                   
And if I'm lucky,    
   
In the morning, she will still be clean and still will let me-                                    
                                 
Love me