Afraid of the Dark

Some things slip through my grasp, like
Dad’s heartbeat the moment you told him you don’t believe in love.
Remember the way I stood on the staircase and cried silently
while you screamed, well, I still do that
but instead of pleading with God now I curse him with this bottle
and plead with your misery.

Please stop hiding underneath my bed.
I’m seven years old and afraid of the dark.
Remember the way I imagined car crashes every time
you went to dinner with friends,
you told me you loved me then.

Thank you for teaching me to run away from everyone who cares about me. Thank you for teaching me that no one deserves my misery. Thank you for teaching me to turn off the radio whenever I hear someone smile, my only dance move is
Remember the way I turned my back to you when you screamed
only to look over my shoulder, well, I still do that
but now I can walk away.

Once, I had a brother. Do you remember him?
His soul was made of gold until he traded it for a used car
and ran away,
I tried to follow him but no dealership would accept crumbled charcoal.

When I was a kid winters lasted forever,
my bones are frozen
and I can’t stop shivering.
It never snows anymore but the sidewalks are coated with brown slush that seeps into the rips in my shoes
and into the cuts on my feet that I made by
standing still for too long.

And thank you, by the way, for the last ten years of birthday cards inscribed with “I love you”,
Sorry I haven’t kept in touch.
Some things slip through my grasp, like
the pen I tried to use to write back.