Days That Don’t Move by Abigail Gage ’18

You’re more than that. God dammit, you’re more than that! You wake to see your reflection everyday just waiting for that day to cease. You walk down the same streets with the same footsteps that are heavier than the day before. They are filled with the burden of your self-doubt. It whispers to you. Don’t you see? These whispers of self-hatred fill your shoes, which fill your steps that fill the streets, but none of your steps move! Don’t you see child? If you only wake to sleep, your days no longer move.

Won’t you miss moving? Miss loving, miss crying, miss holding, not dying. You are not dying child. You are not dying.

I know you bathe in tears. Your small naked body pressed against the rim of an ivory cask. Like a casket to the earth, you sink beneath the water and hope that maybe, just maybe the weight of the world will drown you. Maybe your thoughts will cease before the sun rises, and your words will no longer be weightless. Maybe they will finally see your pain through their pinhole eyes.

Your skin is etched with the words unsaid, but your scars remain screaming. I see your sleeves are stained. When will the day come where you stop looking for humanity beneath your own flesh? When will the day come where you stop fearing the fading of your scars? Child, when will you realize your days won’t move if your mind is in the past and your feet have no guidance. Where is your future now? You’re more than that, child.