to my first love, you
have taught me that i’m only good for
your fucking drunken messages & fucking fantasies
(double entendre). you helped me to learn that
things which are closed must, quickly, with caution
thrown off white-washed eroding cliffs,
be opened. (i guess jesus taught me as well,
forgiveness). your nails were sharp,
but your hair was soft and golden. thank you,
for being a dumping ground, a trial run
for my hands, not my heart. you have taught
me that ransacking bare kitchen cupboards is
much like searching for my face in your
consciousness; that my pursuit has not yet
began.
to my therapist, you
have taught me the difference between willing
and willful, and with that, which to avoid, in the same
breath as you taught me that i will always be a child.
thank you for sticking a pink pacifier in my
mouth. for helping me to lazily, haphazardly
give advice, and thank you for
telling me i was good at it.
to clara from bio, you
have taught me that i am constantly looking
into the interweaving of my own
blood vessels; that the only way to understand
myself is by means of dissection. thank you for
making me question. i fear your influence
on me has just begun and when i am
ready, i will thank you for being there
again.
to my best friend, you
have taught me that sometimes identical atoms align
next to one another and sometimes
that's all you can ask for.
& to my own fists, you
have taught me which parts of my body bruise
darkest (my forehead), teaching me
the iridescence of self-destruction. you
have shown me how easy it is to become
visceral and you have shown
me what it means to be satiated. thank
you for the sweaty sleeplessness, for the sticky
headaches. thank you for your unconditional
ruin, for the ways that you pushed
against those restraining you, for the 911 calls
never dialed, for the almosts. i hope we never meet again.
By Madelyn Dawson
