tells me that he likes knowing that I’m a                          Trauma Girl, 
like the damage was already done by a different hand
which reverses the guilt, dipping scarlet fingers 
clean, like it was never his grip on the steering 
wheel that wound up here, that the scream happened
a year ago somewhere else, regardless of who was 
there to listen, like my world gives an opportunity 
to perform and rescue, breaking every string of 
my heart to mend it whole, even when I wind up 
bleeding out behind a closed curtain, operating 
theater littered with the parts of me, like somehow 
he is satisfied standing over a body and looking down, 
asking is it so bad is it so bad is it so bad is it so bad
Rachel Small is based outside of Ottawa, and is exactly one half of Splintered Disorder Press. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in magazines including Thorn Literary Magazine, blood orange, The Hellebore, Anti-Heroin Chic, and other places. You can find her on Twitter @rahel_taller.
header: Giovanni Calia via Pexels