Joy Through the Cracks by Ella Mask (17, Utah)

[TW: implied domestic abuse and alcoholism]

My fear is 
clammy palms tugging the bedsheet
trembling fingers hitting the light switch
hysterical breaths piercing the silence 

My anger is 
hate in my cold gaze 
tightness in my drawn shoulders 
fire in my empty chest 

---

My grief is 
the last breath of my mother 
the turned back of my father 
the bitter end of my youth 

​My joy is 
the most unfamiliar 

When I’m sprawled out in the cold, gritty mud,
blood pooling in my mouth, 
exhaustion hardening in my
stomach, there is no place for joy 

When I learn to keep my hands up 
in fists of warning 
rather than shakes of greeting, 
there is no other instinct besides 
fight now, ask questions later 

When my face is a kaleidoscope 
of mottled purples, blues, and greens,
and the stench of liquor overpowers
the tang of drying blood, 
there is no one left 
to hold my bruised knuckles in their hands,
curl my broken body in their arms, 
and be my safe, fleeting joy 
until the sun peeks through 
the cracks in the crumbling walls