We break like humans, but we rebuild like Gods

-Jasmine Mans


They will assume you are seeking attention.

They will immediately dismiss it

Don’t  plaster your dirty laundry on  social media.

They do not know of the epilepsy that came before,

The willpower it took  to sit at your computer and tttt-tttttt.

Transparency has never been your strength

Don’t show your wounds to people

They’ll get awkward and weird

around your pus and bruises

Don’t post a selfie of your abortion or self-mutilation

God forbid your status reveals that you are lost or breaking

When everything yells escape.

There is no sense in trying to make sense of the drowning

Don’t panic in quicksand.

Don’t entertain the isolation either. Try to sleep. Try to breathe.

When everything yells escape. Smell the ocean. Think of Ingrid Jonker.

In front of your oven three days ago, in what was your home. You thought of Sylvia.

Something’s rattling in your bones.

In public you talk above

the rumbling in your stomach,The anxiety in your chest, the knocking in your head, the grinding of your teeth, the potatoes mashing in your throat, the acne in your sanity, the imbalanced walk on your stumps, the shedding of your skin every time you muster the guts to write this. I see you. You are are never present.

You scan your body through the room, past their gaze and yapping.  Everything still yells escape. You wonder if it’s true, that we break like humans and rebuild like Gods. Maybe it’s the other way around. You think about walking toward the scent of the ocean.

When you contemplate turning back, think of Ingrid.

They’re not listening to your absence because they trust that you have been brave.

They will immediately dismiss it and ask “why do people plaster their dirty laundry all over social media.

And months later they will find your nerve decomposing in the water,

Then turn around and read this over

And ask, “How did I miss it”

It was a poem, an ambiguous poem.


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