photo screencapped from: foe (2023) // dir. garth davis
you make me feel like a child — a fresh, full, rosy nectarine tossed into the sun
only to fall into a knife, driven in deep, driven in slowly,
i wish i was the one holding it — fight for control, i always say,
no one can hurt me more
than me, such a sad thing to say as a child
behind the closed doors, the light flickers, unfixed,
the dishes fly and crash into a hundred angry shards —
my skin always catches its anger like a clueless paper target
waiting for its demise — it tears through the sanity, the slow-moving daydreams
spinning smaller and away, it leaves a picture behind:
you make me feel like a helpless child, so young
stuffing my cheap notebooks in a yellow hand-me-down bag from a local politician —
my mother bangs against the door as if it was the life stolen from her.
you make me feel like a child hiding in my room
as my father’s voice rains down like a bomb dropped above my roof:
an anomaly, a wannabe, a mistake,
god fucking forbid i wanted something more than this misery.
god fucking forbid i nail my ribs down to my heart, it bursts and stops.
you make me feel like a child, so powerless and choiceless
and there are floors to polish and secrets to keep and a mess to clean,
my filthy cheeks with filthy tears, i just got the nerve to cry, don’t i?
well you make me feel like a fucking child, barely thirteen
when i tried to kill myself ten years ago,
“go on, do it.” well fuck, i wish i did and now,
you make me feel like a child of war forced to live just for the fun of it,
for you to slice with words and crawl and cry like a prey under our bed,
i have nowhere else to hide, i hope angels are kinder and gentler
i hope flowers grow on my body when i die —
my grandmother’s jungle flames, so red it drips out of my skin,
so red it matches your anger, loud and big enough
to make me feel like i’m a child, fighting for her stupid life,
i throw in cheap punches, yes i fight for my stupid life
but i might just decide to die, this time.
for a change. you should see the look on your face.
— fray narte
fray narte 