by Abigail Ramsay
Your hands gently grasp the steering wheel,
Driving me home from our second date.
I didn’t tell you how I broke down,
Crying before you pulled into my driveway.
I bite my tongue and stare out the window
As you speak about your past:
Parents, school, dog, moving.
Then you say, “I used to be
Anorexic.”
Stunned, my response is
Awe.
You seem
Normal
Like you have your life together.
You say, “Sorry.” I can’t speak.
You keep apologizing. Saying the same things
I say
When my heart speaks before my brain,
“Sorry, I didn’t mean
To be a pain.”
“Sorry, you just made me feel
Comfortable.”
“Sorry, I just thought
You’d get it.”
Then my heart speaks before my brain.
“I get it.”
Years of hating myself; days without strength
To push myself out of bed. Anything to avoid
Looking in the mirror. Anything to avoid
People looking at me.
I usually deal with the pain in silence,
Depression in isolation, draw less attention.
Seem normal, less broken,
More appealing.
You look at me.
I look at you.
Our broken souls
Finding beauty in the other.
