We Sigh

[TW: self-harm]

In the bathroom, you sighed as you applied
bio-oil onto the red and white
lines that brand my inner forearm.

Wrapping my arm in cling film,
you said, with forced optimism,

I want your scars to disappear
so that you can wear short-sleeved tops when it’s hot

to which I replied,

I want to disappear
so that the sadness stops.

“Nothing,” I lied, and sighed.

We sigh a lot these days;

sighs of frustration and exasperation,
not contentment or admiration;
you may want to fix my outside
but we both know that the real damage lies inside

and so we sigh;

heavy breaths that reiterate that you have tried,
and tried, so many times,
that remind me that I am still alive,
that aren’t the good kind, aren’t the right kind,
that have no place in a happy home,
that reverberate through walls and bone;

sighs that change absolutely nothing,
nothing at all

and still we sigh.

7 thoughts on “We Sigh

  1. ohmygod yes so much of this
    I refuse to try to go back in time to try to remember how many times I’ve watched the red lines grow and how he (whoever he was) tried to fix the outside. I don’t want my outside fixed. Some days I don’t want my insides fixed. Some days, I want to slip beneath cold calming waves and disappear. Like Candice said… if I could IV your writing, yes. Totally.

    • Ah, you totally get it! It sucks that you do get what I’m talking about but your comment makes me feel less alone – thank you, lovely Tara xx

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