In the Name of Myself

I tried to stay alive 

for some future version of me 

that might just know how happiness tasted.

And now I stay alive for her, 

the 16-vear-old 

with moths crystallising under her skin.

I’ve made birthday candles 

out of healed scars,

wax dripping onto the bad memories 

that failed to ignite.

 

My clients think healing is linear, 

they don’t see the skin raised on my thigh 

or the cracks where the fault lines 

closed on my heart.

They want roadmaps 

but I hand them seismographs 

each tremor a reminder, 

the earth repairs itself 

in folds and ruptures, 

not straight lines.