Bad Fruit

by Ella King

Here is where I keep me, in this hole under the floorboards.

Every minute of my life is people saying, “I love you,” “I promise,” and it never means anything except that they want something.

I’m invincible, I’m a bird who’s smashed its cage; I’ve uncovered my wings.

I know two things. I know my mother is insane, that she has been for a very long time. And I know how to break her.

THERE’S BEAUTY TO falling off the edge. Certain things become brighter; others fade in lavish lengths of time.

HOW DO YOU COME BACK to yourself when you’re not there? It happens quietly, slowly, like sunlight stealing under the curtains.