When I was younger and not yet experiencing growing pains,
my father kept a collection of all the birds eggs he’d ever found
on the ledge of the garage windowsill,
even the blue speckled sparrow eggs already split in half,
the tiny body that used to be harbored inside them no longer anywhere in sight.
Now, years later, they say one of the most fear-inducing dreams
is one in which all the deer you’ve accidentally run over on a dark night
come back to haunt you one by one,
but for me the most terrifying one
involves seeing all the different people I’ve ever been in my life
inside that very same car.
I was already learning from my father
to collect pain in the form of beauty
long before I reached the cusp of adulthood
and wished to crash on a road late at night, not into deer,
but into myself and end everything.
Now, an average of once a month I cut two inches off my hair
and plan out the next tattoo-
if I can’t crack myself open and bleed out all the hurt just like the yolk
in my father’s eggs,
at least maybe I can learn how to keep something
but also let something go.
Today, I read an article about a woman with HIV who was raped. The man that attacked her is now HIV positive. All of the commentary surround this was about how she should have told him she was HIV+ and that women with HIV should have a badge or special underwear so that this doesn’t happen to another man. It is 12:12am and I am already done with the world.
That is rape culture