Artwork by Jane Green

Content warning: references to OCD and mental illness.

Someone once told me if

you rip a leaf 

         off the plant

and twist its stem between 

fingernails, it yields                  a scream that can’t be heard.

I find it too easy to ignore the hurt

like it isn’t a—

part of me               born dead

a ghost growing out the back

of my head                              calling out,

rotting but

still yearning           mercy

whispering                               screams that can’t be heard.

Tiny threads litter  

discarded progress like            starting 

from the very beginning.

just                to fail

glittering

despite it all:

         functioning most days

a ticked box               

                                                  my scream that can’t be heard.