Trauma Is a Stalker

What if I told you trauma is a stalker Follows me room to room Visits me at work Leaves dead animals on my day planner Texts me knives Licks my memory before I have a chance to get it right I'm digging myself into the carpet Learning how to make wool imprints on my kneecaps This is how I learned to dance With half of my body on fire There is not enough whiskey in the world To make any of this bearable But I have been screaming in the basement of my trauma Trying to find a window A light, a string, a sound Something that doesn't read helpless, Something that doesn't read sad girl crying all the time, A wreck in a shower A wet mess huddled in a bed Don't look at me like that Like I can do better Like this sadness is a well that I jumped into on purpose Nothing is on purpose My mania is so stupid and marvelous It sits in a glass jar Teetering on the kitchen counter I am always one slipped rug away from losing everything