Content Warning: domestic abuse and violence, allusions to self-harm.

One.
Throw out the shirt,
the one with the netting
and crashing blue water
where he hunted you
all the way down.

Two.
Scrub your skin
in the places where he touched
redder than the heart
he splattered across you.
Rub it raw.

Three.
Smash the amulet
that you are so sure
holds his eyes within it
(they share the same tone)
don’t let him see you.

Four.
Burn the words he wrote
from their place on your bones
there are no more what if’s
or lies to lick into your skin.

Five.
Forget the way his name sounds
it will not bring forth ravens
tearing knuckles
and wrapping them through
your bloodied wrists
his anme won’t write your fate.

Six.
Shake the shouted whispers
from your hair, they’re nothing
more than dandruff now.
Let them make snow and
build tracks to new places
that disappear before him.

Seven.
Tell the guy at the party
why you’re so introverted
when you discuss “boy problems”
as he holds your hand warm
the first demonstration
of masculine comfort you’ve felt
since your Daddy’s arms.

Eight.
Kiss the people
who create homes
out of tents you feared
when it was dark
and he would wander.