Some days the curtain feels heavyweight,
gray-scale afternoon when the weight of decrepit trees and lifelessness sits heavy.
Thick velvet, aged beyond color
Like armor, steel, steals away the light that I seek.
Leaves dark residue on my shoulders
as I brace for the day.
Heavy with the hurt from the day
You took it all away.
Other days I fear its transparency.
Can they see? The victim that hides behind sheer curtain of sanity?
Shiftless keeper of survivor secrets,
I survey terrain with constant anxiety.
The curtain cloaks my touch so that wake and dream
Are thread barren.
Threatened by reality, trapped in nightmare scheme of your smile
As you say,
“I can make you feel good.”
Wrapping curtain tight around my body,
shielding myself from prying fingers
in my bed.
Burn the sheets,
this curtain is my only comfort.
I can see it in their eyes—
Why does she wear that? Why does she still drink?
Why is she still sad?
Curtain, veil me from tomorrow and shield me from today,
warm my body against cold Wisconsin November.
Because surely my blood will spill red
On this snow scape that I try to escape.
Curtain, choking, constraining my identity,
I’d surely unravel without your cloth to keep close
My broken pieces.