16 moments in which i am small

By: Emma Corcoran

1.

i do not take risks. 

but you,

you became my

unexpected

exception. 

 

2.

covered myself with thick

layers

of superficial skin, artificially

sanitising

my senses, 

and apologising

to something that

couldn’t

respond,

i let you step through that door

and into my glass house.

effortless like apathetic sympathy,

you stole me – 

but only for a moment.

 

3.

incomplete blueprint of

meaningless

scribbled sketches on napkins

i had found on the floor

maps the geography of my convoluted

mind

but

even i can’t understand it.

 

4.

i neglected

to make

an escape plan.

no bother, 

i’m not

going

anywhere.

 

5.

when the man in the butterfly room precariously crosses his legs and asks me 'how i want to spend our sessions' i think

i want to lie down and sleep.

but i really mean

fix

me.

 

6.

my brain

likes the taste of

chemical imbalance

and the fear

that

keeps me

from

 

loving

 

myself.

 

7.

lying beside you,

woke up to a voice and a cord.

so worried that i took up

TOO MUCH SPACE,

i couldn’t hear the music.

 

8.

i liked the feeling of you,

your arms wrapped around my waist

the way you

tucked my hair back into place and

kissing every part of me,

you made me feel

like i existed –

like i stood a chance.

 

9.

what’s wrong

nothing’s wrong

something’s not right

we aren’t right

 

i’m not right.

 

10.

with each touch

my glass house quivered

shook

silently

like a smile in between the dry heaves or maybe

a whimper

and i could feel It

wrapping around my throat squeezing

white knuckles

cutting crisscrossed patterns into my flesh

tiny crescent moons

caught in the undertow i was screaming but the glass was cracking like the collision between car and body but i am the asphalt

split

spider-webbed fissures

obstructing my view of the outside, those crevices

filling with blood – 

 

my blood.

 

11.

shh. shh... listen.

listen to me.

 

me: a wisp of a bruised being

wash-up chewed swallowed and spit back up

that blinked and breathed

but did not

live

would not know

how to

even if

it tried

 

i let It tell me not to try

because

it wasn't worth

the same the embarrassment or

disappointing

you.

 

13.

put down the punching gloves,

and as my insides ate themselves

i repeated the words

'i am good at seeming good'

over and over

and over

 again.

 

14.

you escaped me,

the fragile memory that you forgot to remember

let

disappear

slip softly

beneath the

surface of your

 

mind

and

 

gradually,

 

the hole in my heart that

you had

filled,

 

it emptied

 

and reopened.

 

15.

how do you tell the one you love

that you can’t love him

because the parasite in your brain tells you not to. 

 

16.

an irrelevant thought,

a delicious nightmare – 

my mind, the disturbed safe haven;

 

my mind,

the glass house.

ST.ART Magazine