Coat Hangar

Say you don't want it, again and again, but you don't really mean it. I was going to say I never said I didn't want it, but that's not really true, is it? I said I didn't care. I said "Whatever." I left my fate and the moment and the collision if there was one up to you. 

Whatever you want, she said. Air of indifference. Terrified on the inside. Pillar candle dying for a match inside. Say you don't want it, again and again, but you don't really mean it. You pathetic seventeen year old, driving home with your latin shoes still on your feet. Three inch heel of your left foot sliding comfortably into the worn upholstery in the footwell where it had already poked a hole. Worn hole, comfortable hole, hole of my own devising. That my satin heel fit into so well it defined my life. The way I was an adult in that car and a kid at home. The way it's said she wrote this song about a miscarriage, but this song was always a soundtrack of me miscarrying myself. Or him coming after me with a coat hanger. Say you don't want it, again and again, but you don't really mean it. Say Obsession and Hugo Boss always turned your stomach because he wore them holding that coat hanger, but you don't really mean it. Grown ups said if someone makes you uncomfortable, report them to your boss but they don't really mean it. Say you don't want it or say nothing, we know you don't really mean it. In fact, if we're being honest, were you talking? We weren't listening.

This came out when I gave my body a voice inside Body Writers, my somatic writing and healing circle. Learn to give your body a voice here.