Wound and Knife

Give me the smallest flicker

Of distance—

A breath pulled back,

A glance that forgets to land—

And I’ll vanish faster

Than your doubt can name itself.

It’s not pride.

It’s muscle memory.

I learned escape the way animals learn fire:

By blister,

By repetition,

By the soft hiss of warning

That always came too late.

I am both wound and knife—

The ache that never learned to clot,

And the instinct that cuts first

So nothing worse can try.

My love is a tremor,

A flame-starved match

Shaking for warmth

But terrified of heat.

I want to stay,

To uncurl this guarded body

And lean into something that doesn’t flinch—

But touch is a language I mistrust,

And silence sounds too much like goodbye.

So if you pull back,

Even by an inch,

I will sprint that inch into a canyon,

Convince myself falling was a choice,

And pretend the bruises are proof

I always meant to leave.

Still—

In the quiet corners of my heart,

Where even I forget to lock the doors,

There’s a small, stubborn hope

That someone might one day

Hold both my blade and my brokenness

Without bleeding for either.

Until then,

I keep myself sharp.

I keep myself scarred.

I keep myself ready

To run or be held—

Whichever fate arrives first,

Whichever I’m brave enough

To let touch me.

---

---

Thank you so much for reading <3

If you enjoy my work and want to support what I do, consider subscribing (paid-subscribers get a big wet kiss), sharing, or leaving a comment—it means the world.

You can also check out my published stories, Sehnsucht, In The Season Of The Corn Doll, and Le Mort-Vivant, available now on Kindle.

If you’d like to help fuel my writing, you can buy me a matcha (or a coffee) on Ko-fi.

I’m deeply passionate about storytelling, poetry, and about putting myself out there to see what echoes back—who feels it, who’s moved, and what conversations it sparks. Thank you again for being here on the journey.

xoxo, madlizze

Any use of this written work, or parts of this will be considered unauthorized. All rights reserved. ©M. Elizabeth. 2025.