School Play Costume by Brishti Chakraborty

i wonder if i would have liked this self when i was eight, bruised

knees and open mouth / the last time i took a breath i didn't regret i was nine, five

feet tall (almost) and blissfully infatuated with a boy in the sixth grade / it felt wrong

kissing a boy at fourteen but it doesn't feel right having no friends at sixteen because

i said the kiss had made me want to crawl out of my skin / in my dreams

i punch the wall, never a person / violence hurts me more than it

hurts the walls but it's always there / because i need it and the sadness

always there because i bleed it / asked my therapist if i could ever put the weight

down and she said would you if you could? / go ahead and try and i

couldn't do it / can't stop being the pioneer / i'll do anything for a rush

but you can't call me a coward / there's only so many times you can wash a face

before it tears apart / and i've never been quiet or kind / lights out and the

audience is gone but i stay on stage in costume until it makes me

sick / young and restless and tired and awake / i'm going to pick up the world

and swallow it whole / i only close my eyes when they close me / when i'm

alone that's my cage to deal with, but all the walls in my head have blood on them / i'm

sorry i can't tell you what i mean, but sorry only sounds right when i don't

say it out loud / every time i go to sleep i think it'll be better when the light

turns on / but now i can see the corpse / familiar brown face green hair wide smile sharp

teeth / bruises on all ten knuckles / i should turn the lights back off but

i'll do anything for a rush and you can't call me a coward

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Brishti Chakraborty (she/her) is a chronically ill teenage lesbian living in India. When she isn't doing massive amounts of math homework, she can be found in the aisles of a secondhand bookstore. Find her @brishti_writes on Twitter and @brishtiiii on Instagram.