I sit and watch this same view,
I breathe in the dust on my desk,
I polish my windows
and notice every person pass.
You once drowned my eyes in despair,
wound guilt around my hands
and painted my face blue with shame
until I snapped the cord of your coercion,
twisted and mocked it –
let you scream.
You stole the girl who smoothed over cuts with stories:
I carve letters into my desk for her,
litter my room with new pictures and posters,
and tuck away each of your fabricated fears.