Lit Mag Submission

Arms That Work

by Madeleine Burt

You let him breathe on you darling, you let him get too close, felt the words on your neck and let the heat soften the blows, silly little sweetheart you’d played this game all your life but did not recognize it coming from the lips of teenage lust.

You let her words worm into your soft spots, she knew where best to penetrate, with so much confusion the lines between hurt and love became vague and when you looked behind you, there was a parasite on your back, a beautiful helpless thing that took and took and darling,

I know, I know how it hurt, I know how it took so much out of you that you let dull things be your guide and desperation subdivide.

My dear, you tore it off.

You ran into the arms of another who would build you up and tear you down, write sweet words on your blank pages then rip them apart, hold your quivering form up to the light and meld mirrors to the backs of your eyelids, you were so sick, so sick of shifting sides, of two faces looking out from one pair of eyes, so sick of death by design, so sick of “what’s my line?”

Darling, you are not a quitter. You are an escape artist. And one day you will meet someone whose eyes, lips and hands align, someone who is what they mean and says who they are, clean hands, I see them all the time in dreams, clean hands and perfect pearls that prove something.

Sweet girl, turn your back one more time, turn towards bright white light and honest eyes.