Haley Arsenault Angel Wing

Time was measured by the streetlights I was always too scared of the dark

A short hamper ride away is where my house sat But every morning it was to grandmother’s house I go Spoiled, spirited, and sassy

Being small was sweaty work, my skin always sensitive and tan from the sun I followed my Mimi around her gardens like a little duckling She was always a comfort to me; sizzling pepsi and soft soil was her perfume

Once a day she sang our song to the creaking rhythm of her rocking chair I was her Angel wing

Then, one day I became a liar My world became constrained, the gardens I ran through as a child grew vines of ivy that wrapped me up like chains, that touched my skin and left behind a rash that never went away.

I fight with myself to this day about freedom My childhood was a six-foot-deep hole, I could see the blue sky and envy the birds flying above but my nails were never quite long enough to pull myself out

I was forced to live in a burning home, on a knife's edge I looked like a heavenly child, but I held hate like the devil I hurt and ached with no voice to yell out. My mouth stayed clenched shut.

I hold my shaky hands and chapped lips close to me Wearing them like a second skin, my fear grew a soul inside me Until I couldn’t eat, my cheeks hollow and my eyes lost their summer swamp glow

Another body grew to fit inside mine Burning hot to scream at the top of my lungs To break windows, weep for my lost self, And baptize this entity from my body

It hurt to breathe air I had a right to No tears could be summoned from my body

I felt cheated, And too empathetic for any child of my age

My reflection in the mirror today is steady and solid My silhouette is whole and colorful

But my hands still tremble, and I want to run more than I wish to stay I often wonder if that hate is buried inside of me, or if I lost it along the way Denial is a noun I am well versed in I still lie, especially to myself I still fear, it’s a core strength of mine And I nurture the unforgivable rash that prickles my body

My years weigh tons They balance on my bones, and creak my knees Temples are filled with needles My chest heavy with the ghosts of my life

I am a purple and yellow bruise still, but there is strength in pain And a soft humanity in the ache