• 8 Lives Left


    A poem Teal wrote in reference to her mother while in therapy for the abuse that she suffered as a child.


    Selfishness she called it,
    The state of a slowly vortexing world 
    That has been my prison of such isolation, instead of small,
    It is the desperate expanse of every desert.

    I have been here longer than I can attempt to not own it as home.

    And this “end happiness” of which you speak,
    I have been here longer than I can attempt to remember what that even feels like.

    It is more that I seek a state of not desiring… something else so much,
    I can’t ever really stop to see the day.

    You see…
    Selflessness I call it.

    The state of a slowly vortexing world.

    Imploding on an identity that instead of made,
    It was given.

    A way of ignoring open wounds and seeing torture as a validation of strength
    And loving the man, above all, who did it to me.

    I have been here long enough for freedom to feel like abandon.

    It is more that my survival was those chains that kept me so tight,
    I confused the claim for love.

    You see…
    A death you call it,
    The state of a slowly vortexing world.

    A woman can’t be until a girl dies.

    And I am still 4 or 5 of them,
    Caught in the prison that memory is for me,
    Screaming to be held and heard and noticed, and “put to sleep”
    I have been here so long that I have died without the falsehoods I believed.

    It is more that the child died,
    The one who silenced the truth to begin with but had been screaming to tell it ever since.

    You see…
    She died so I could live.