I'm Learning How To Taste Everything.

I Can See Us, Living In The Woods, Her Wearing That A, Me With A S Maybe, S For Silent, S For Stupid, For Scared. S For Silly. For Shame.

Here Stands A Girl Clutching A Knife. There Is Grease On The Stove, Blood In The Air, And Angry Words Piled In The Corners. We Are Trained Not To See It, Not To See Any Of It. . . . Someone Just Ripped Off My Eyelids.

I've Written In Every Imaginable Location; A Repurposed Closet, The Kitchen Table, The Bleachers While My Kids Had Basketball Practice, The Front Seat Of The Car When They Were At Soccer. In Airports. On Trains. In The Break Room When I Was Supposed To Be Wolfing Down Dinner. In The Back Of Classrooms When I Was Supposed To Be Paying Attention.

I Pushed My Ragged Mouth Against The Mirror. A Thousand Crushed Bleeding Lips Pushed Back At Me.

I Needed To Hear The World But Didn't Want The World To Know I Was Listening.