subject line: trauma isn't eloquent



it is 2:52 in the morning and I can’t sleep. earlier I stopped in the middle of doing laundry and just cried. yesterday I rested my head on the steering wheel of my car in the parking lot after work and I cried then too. I feel so heavy. I write poems to get it all out and to try to make the pain pretty, moving, constructive. it’s not.

I was sexually assaulted by someone I loved and who I believed loved me and some days it is hard to think it was real.