BEE LB


cw for dissociation, allusion to self-harm

self-portrait in a dissociated state

watching the way life unfolds is a special kind of torment.
i lie in bed for hours, separating myself from my body,
watching from in front of myself as i make my body small.

there are certain truths that i stare at headlong, but can’t bear
to feel. i pull them from the crevices i’ve tucked them in for
safe keeping, each time surprised by their weight in my hands.

i drop them. i fall out of myself. i watch my body curl itself
as small as it can, watch my arms wrap around my legs,
draw them tight to my chest. i cannot see my face, though

i’m looking right at it. i can’t stand the sound of my body crying,
so i return myself to myself, make the noise stop. i choke on my
sobs and they quiet. i feel my face flatten. my joints all ache from
the strain. i keep my body tense just to see how long i can hold it.

i punish myself.
i watch my life unfold.

i try to fold it back up
make it small, containable.

i never manage.
my hands feel useless.

i use them to cover my face.

cw for allusion to self harm; mention of blood, drowning

self infliction

i reach for what wounds me;
sure i will be safe once i have it in my grasp.

i enjoy being proven wrong.
my body hollows against time. my hand bleeds sap.

i cup my palm in order to hold myself
together. i wait to be pulled apart. i swallow around the past.

i resist the urge to drown the future.
i sit and i sit and i sit and i still do not understand the present.

my body is here, i can feel it, but that does not mean
i am in it. do you know the terror of being bodiless and trapped?

i’m sure you do.
how else would you have found me?

my tongue is caught on a lure and i am resisting
despite the pain. blood in the water, if there is water to be had.

i am finding myself to be bait more often even
than planned. these thoughts are unspeakable and yet here i am attempting.

i am tired of caging my voice in order to keep myself safe
when i am never safe as a result. that doesn’t mean i will speak.

it is possible i will continue to cower.
it is possible i will wrap the future up and save it for later,

hoping that later never comes. i spoil myself;
i let myself spoil. i wrap my wound in cloth. i admire the stain.

BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; they are a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in Badlung Press, Revolute Lit, Red Weather, and Catchwater Magazine, among others. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co