Tell me:
Where does the guilt go?
I’ve stored the sorrows. They sat at the back of kitchen cabinets, unused.
When my mother asked if I was hungry, I’d always say no.
There was a crash diet of maybes and half-truths. I used it to sustain myself;
let myself be touched when I didn’t feel like being touched.
Lovers have asked if I believe in a god—
But I can barely tell when someone wants to kiss me back.
I’ve worshipped and prayed. I’ve danced and flirted with abandon.
I’ve walked across hot coals for practice, just in case.
There’s hell. Then, there’s high water.
And in the midst of it all, I’m drowning.
God knows, I’m drowning.
By Amanda Angelina Hall
Amanda Hall is a fourth-year English major with a CW minor. She also works as Co-Editor-in-Chief of New Forum. Amanda enjoys astrology, singing, and beautiful people with deep voices. After rediscovering her bisexuality this summer, she made the executive decision to be as obnoxious about it as possible.
Comments