What if I told you trauma was a stalker? Follows me room to room, visits me at work Leaves dead animals on my day planner Texts me knives, licks my memory before I have a chance to get it right I am digging myself into the carpet Learning how to make wool imprints on my kneecaps This is how I learned to dance With half of my body on fire There is not enough whiskey in the world To make any of this bearable But I have been screaming in the basement of my trauma Trying to find a window A light, a string, a sound Something that doesn't read "helpless" Something that doesn't read "sad girl, crying all the time" A wreck in a shower, a wet mess huddled in a bed Don't look at me like that, like I can do better Like this is sadness is a well that I jumped into on purpose Nothing is on purpose My mania is so stupid and marvelous It sits in a glass jar Teetering on the kitchen counter I am always one slipped rug Away from losing everything