journal entry {3-1-22} cento speak by laurie halse anderson

 My tears dissolved the last block of ice in my throat

Words float up.

Me: “let me tell you about it.”

I’m a boiling teapot, I’m spouting with the truth.

Even when he stands taller than me, I’m still a rolling ball of hot steam

My tree is definitely breathing, little shallow breaths like it

 just shot up through the ground this morning.

When people don’t express themselves, they die one piece at a time.

Because after the beast comes, I’m ready.

My last straw has been broken, chewed up and spit out right in front of my eyes

My tree needs something. Water drips on the paper and the birds bloom

In their light, their feathers expand promise.

If you knew, would I be different?

I’m scared of being looked at but I need attention

Was I raped? Of course I was, but I want validation.

Oprah: Let's explore that. You said no. He covered your mouth with his hand

You were thirteen years old, it doesn't matter if you were drunk. Honey, you were raped

I want to kill him. I’m sorry but I do. I’m not sorry, that he deserves death.

“Now you're getting somewhere.” She gives me a thumbs-up.

I was accostumed  to forgive, like I should be forgiven for not forgiving. I’m a tree

Not everyone deserves my shade. I provide too much.

I’ve painted an earth. Shattering piece of a fat white seed, sleeps in the sky. 

My tree is hopeless

It isn't art, I’m wide awake. 

I’m an artist but I'm infertile. You don't feel right when your 

best qualities are stolen and locked away

And when you finally find the key, everyone is surprised. 

His words fall like nails on the floor, hard, pointed. 

I try to walk around him but he blocks the door.

He wants to see me raw, he wants to eat me clean off the planet

My raw form is too scary for his eyes.

He pins me against the door. Maya Angelou looks at me. I open my mouth gasping.

I held the glass against his throat. I push it hard enough to raise a drop of blood

His lips are paralyzed. He cannot speak. That's good enough.