A poem by Carissa Richetti
His calloused hands felt like silk against my skin
Shattering reason.
I traced the constellations on his face
The anger, a beautiful masterpiece.
I was his tragic subject,
That believed love was just a conscious choice
To look at those stars and see what I wanted to.
I ascended the parking garage all five levels,
Staring out at the city
His face was the sky.
He was everywhere.
He was inside me,
bruising my heart
cracking my ribs,
I’m an open gallery.
Shaking with resentment,
I gambled with my own tragedy.
Pay to watch me bleed,
Come and see.
He’s no longer within me,
He’s no longer within me
But I couldn’t make myself believe it.
Russian Roulette on a Tuesday.
My face was the sky.
Tears fall from it.
There is nothing romantic about his hands,
Trigger his words,
I just want him to stop,
But he is inside me.
Those eyes, black, slick oil pools
Slip into danger, never come back.
He’s no longer within me,
But I still feel him there.
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Carissa Richetti writes about feminism, womanhood, body positivity, self worth and more at her blog http://www.lit-space.com. She also writes fiction.
Cover photo: Vinita Agrawal
