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.