I know how you feel:
as broken as a soldier surveying the post-war battlefield
still scattered with the bodies of friends you once drank with,
brothers you once cried with,
and family you swore to protect.
You’ve lost and
you’re the only one standing.
The bright red that cut your skin like tribal markings
have faded to a dull white. Your tiger stripes have
simmered to dull scars
that carry the weight of the world.
Your fingers trace them,
coloring in between the lines of your ghosts
who have found the key to unlock your closet door.
Some days you look
into that reflective glass you used to let manhandle you
with a smirk
because it no longer beats you with a whip
until you fall to your knees.
But, some days you see the extra baggage you carry
on your stomach, on your thighs, on your arms.
These are the long days that pull you under:
a riptide with a current too strong
for you to swim away.
Just as you catch a fresh breath of salty air,
you’re pulled under again by the weight of it all.
Health is an island you thought you could swim to on your own,
but sometimes the ocean is too wide and too deep,
no matter how skilled a swimmer you claim to be.
Your mind can be an anchor or a lifeboat, an iceberg or a raft.
Don’t listen to anything
that tells you that you are numbers and lines and measurements.
You are so much more than geometric:
you are feelings and light and smile lines
drawn on freckles that imitate the most perfect background of stars.
You are a decorated veteran steadily overcoming the demons in your head.
Kathryn is just your average Lady Lazarus attempting to squeeze the universe into a ball and be Spring. She is currently an over-ambitious college student at Saint Francis University hoping to double major in English and Women’s Studies, and minor in Spanish and Social Responsibility. Her plans for the future are to dismantle the Patriarchy word by word, and write to her heart’s content.