I remember gasping for air
when my heart got stuck in my throat.
I remember black nail polish
and stacks of rubber bracelets
cutting off the circulation
in my left arm.
I remember too straight hair
smelling like burnt popcorn,
a jar of tacks by my bed,
other sharp objects hidden, scattered.
I remember sore, raw eyes,
tired from breaking down,
being alone.
I remember how I covered it up well
because nobody noticed.
