red crayon

(This piece may be triggering for some who have dealt with/experienced sexual assault. Read with caution.)

Outside feels nostalgic.
Growing trees lining the edges of the playground
The fluffy grass that would somehow end up in your tennis shoes
Are all I can see from my school desk,
Where I raise my hand
Wait my turn
Smile at others.

I write my name in my notebook in red crayon
Because red is my favorite color
And everything I do must be an expression of who I am
So I can lie to myself and pretend I’m still me

Eyes up.
The word ‘love’
Spelled out in white,
Chalkboard letters
This feels nostalgic, but a somber nostalgia, as if you’ll never get it back

My classmates copy the word into their notebooks
Over and over and over and over
But the tremors in my hands now stretch across all my limbs



And my mind tells me there’s a disconnect between this word’s universe and mine.



And suddenly I can smell him
I can feel him
I can taste him
I can hear him
I can see him
One of his hands is wrapped around my neck
And the other is wiping away my tears
Is this love?




My name written in red crayon
Crossed out in pen