Porch Swing


By Charlie E. Shih
University of Southern California

 

i sit on the bench

of the porch swing

inside the pocket

where i try to find myself,

but am missing.

 

missing from the place where he touched me

and the other wanted me to touch him.

is that what love means?

missing from that day in my living room.

and that day in the hospital. and he was so sick and i didn’t know.

and that night when i was too drunk.

and the time he put his hands around my neck

saying “i bet you’ll like this”.

and the bits and pieces of scattered childhood memories and images

i can’t quite put together because what even is a memory.

and all the days in between.

the place where i lost my voice

and could only scream inside.

where the screams scratched away at me

until i had hollowed out.

a shell to be cracked

because there was nothing left.

so i hid behind a wall

in a fortress i built for myself

and let no one inside.

 

lonely but safe

unsafe.

i needed to feel safe.

and no one had made it stop.

and no one had made me feel safe.

like i would be okay.

it was their job to make me feel safe.

tell me “you’ll be okay, now”

“they can’t hurt you again”

“i won’t let them”

 

replace what i tell myself

it’s all my fault

it’s not my fault

i ruined everything

it wasn’t real

nothing even happened.

 

i live like a spider

on the tangled web of contradicting lies or truths i tells myself.

the delicate balance i weave to survive, but try not to see.

i sit there

and if i concentrate on not looking

sometimes i can forget that anything might have existed.

 

and other times in the blaring silence

i wish i could forget to exist

because it’s too much to hear.

in my web, i cannot tell what is actually real

what is true

what i actually believe.

 

so make me feel safe in the place where i find myself missing.

missing in the swirls of lost and confusion.

of waterfalled tears and nothing at all.

why do i feel nothing sometimes

when i know that it hurts unbearably.

automatic liticane

and not

like a flick of a switch

on and off.

 

so stuck in the place where

a shower could not wash away what would be caked on

for years to come

remnants of him. and him. and him.

 

so stuck in the place where

i cannot trust.

don’t know how to trust

because everyone is a threat.

“they can hurt me”

i think consciously

and unconsciously

when they kiss me and i cry

and cannot breathe when they touch me

and i shake and shake

because the others left an imprint of fear.

 

is this what love means?

 

and so i sit

on the swing

off balance

tilted too far to the left

with alone on the right.

 

looking

at the worn mud

and patchy green

as if too many feet have walked

but were only footprints passing through.

 

and no one would look

because they were never there.

 

wishing.

wishing for someone to hold my hand

and sit

with me as i swing

not speaking

just sitting.

to share the bite of the wind,

to watch the branches swirl

and split

while the leaves stay still.

 

and i feel i’m staying still

because nothing i’ve tried has made it better

and i’m trying so hard

“how do i feel better”

“how do i make it go away”

i scream

into the void

feeling the pieces of me

shattered and broken

swirl away

not tied down by the thread that feels cut.

“how do i keep all the pieces inside”

i want to hide in a cocoon

want to run away

far away from myself,

but i cannot leave myself behind

because anywhere i goes it follows me.

and how can i fight the monster

when i feel i am the monster?

 

sit with me, i beg

on the porch swing

and love me

though i do not think i am capable

or worthy of love.

do not prove me right.

because i have been proven right

too many times before.

and believe with me

that the leaves can change color.

that i can feel safe and okay

because i need to tell myself that

to get through another day

even though i do not think it can be okay.

 

and believe that between now and then

i am enough

that i do not need to change to be enough

because i have always been enough.

believe that i am real

and that i matter

because through it all

i think i forgot.

 

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