Slashes

I am made up of slashing. Slashes on my face that deepened into a reflection that did not glance back

It ripped into my eyes

I was crying in front of the distortion

Until the smile came creeping back

I am made up of slashes even as I’m healing

Abuse cannot interpret itself into art but my hands hang like a noose as I struggle to grasp onto each memory like a whiplash

A quiet beating

So quiet, like a rape that tried to force itself into love-making with —-

Slashes that became battle scars that plunged into ferocity

You can’t touch one single particle of the slashes you thought you branded on my face

They are not made from you

They are

Me