It’s harder
to love yourself at 6 am, eyes hazy
with sleep. even harder when you want
nothing more than to bite
down hard into flesh–
your own flesh.
it’s harder when you get a sympathetic nod
and it’s not enough, it was never enough, and
you think how you can bust into a throat and
steal the words hiding there.
you fill a bowl
with rice, stick your hand under warm water.
strip a layer off, watch it drain.
repeat. repeat.
momentary relief is
harder when the low parts slide into
your lungs, slip into your eyes like
something setting up home, knows it will
stay awhile.
Chandra Persaud writes on topics such as trauma, grief, mental health, and the immigrant experience. Her work has been published in Pictura Journal, Epistemic Literary, Defunkt Magazine, and Rogue Agent Journal. She was born in Guyana, immigrated to the United States with her family as a child, and writes from New York. You can follow her writing journey on Instagram: @pieces_of_acp.