How to talk about self-harm

Daniel Brennan

Name the spindling trees confined
to your sidewalk. Floss before bed.
Dust the bookshelf by the window
where an unread copy of Joyce’s
Ulysses stands dormant. Dust again, 
for good measure. Stare-down 
the Great Dane that approaches along
the sidewalk (you win). Light
a candle. Light as many candles 
as you can stand. Water the plant
your company gave you as a welcome gift.
Sort through non-linear free writes.
Craft a poem about a boy you’ve 
fucked. Fuck another boy. And another.
Gather them like teeth under your pillow –
someone must reward you for all this.
Buy a matchbook. Throw it away,
unused. Buy another one when you’re
high and can’t reason yourself out of it.
Listen to a song you love. Listen to a song
you hate; not because you hate the song,
but because of how it makes you feel,
how it rings you open like a bone saw. 
Open that matchbook. Count the sulfurous blessings.
Start the song over. Close
the door. Name the trees outside
your window. Name the buds still
wrapped in winter. Imagine that long
call of the soil. The long journey 
through darkness where roots twist
and ache. Ache like them. Reach like them.
Strike a match. Two. As many as it takes.
Kiss your flesh. Create your map-markers.
When tomorrow comes, rinse and repeat. 
The trees will still be there. 

Daniel Brennan (he/him) is a queer writer and coffee devotee from New York, where he lives in an apartment being slowly overtaken by stacks of books. His work has appeared in numerous publications, including Passengers Journal, The Banyan Review, Birdcoat Quarterly, Sky Island Journal, and Hive Avenue. He can be found on Twitter and Instagram: @dannyjbrennan.