in the absence of the sun

by Emily Curtis

You didn’t listen to me when I tried to explain that I have scars so long, so deep, you may never find the ends of them

When we were younger we fought with our fists but now we have discovered deadlier weapons -words

Here’s to the women who come home each day, unbutton the grief, shrug it off their shoulders and try to forget it for a while before they are forced to wake up and press repeat

Hearts don’t shatter they rot

She’s a forest fire, but she practices self-control She taught herself to put it out because some people can’t handle incandescence

You scraped the smiles off my face to stich over your permanent scowl, stole my breath so that you could stop holding yours, snatched my eyes to pretend that you were awake, tore off my feet because yours were tired of standing, borrowed my brain so that you could stop hearing the voices that questioned the existence of your own, dug through my skin and cracked my ribs, found my heart and replaced yours in order to finally feel what others felt

If he does not respect you now, he never will It’s impossible to teach a whale to walk

We compete to see who can prove they care less

The words, they just flow out of her like tears they dry up on the pages and she will never feel satisfied because there is no perfect combination of letters that will adequately describe what she feels

I wish I had the ability to sleep so peacefully, easily, but I am among the few who remain awake with the owls -in the absence of the sun

She was told so many times “She can’t” that now She won’t

Who knew mixing words with feelings could be so infuriating & intoxicating

I figured if I held my breath long enough and sucked my stomach up under my ribs far enough and powdered my face pale enough and gave myself enough razor burns and plucked the hairs between my eyebrows until my eyes watered and painted my nails girly enough and squeezed my jeans on tight enough and demolished my natural beauty enough I’d be pretty enough

I live among the hardcovers stacked in piles higher than Everest because it is easier to feel through fictional characters the loss the love the heartbreak the tragedy it all comes at once and then it is gone with the close of the cover -from the comfort of my bedroom

Why are we constantly told we know nothing of it? it isn’t something we grow into [like our bodies] it is something we have the capability of feeling as soon as we hear our mothers laugh, or our father’s say our name

Empathy tugs lightly on my shirt sleeve and gently whispers in my ear, “they are struggling too”

Falling for you was like rereading my favorite book

You are allowed encouraged to be different

You tear me down like last year’s calendar on New Year’s Day my resolution...

And right after your ABC’s you learn that God created everyone equal, pink is not just a girl’s color, and boys are allowed to cry -how it should be

We are splatter paint on a blank canvas s-c-a-t-t-e-r-e-d spoNtaNeOus unapologetically messy

Learn to take a compliment with grace even if you don’t believe it

Reality smokes about a thousand packs of them a day, never pausing to consider what opportunities he would have if he quit, what the world would become if he wasn’t addicted to lighting them up only to inhale one puff and then stub them out, reaching for another to waste because each new one is more fresh than the last -our dreams