everyone here can see your grief

Poem by Sana Agarwal & illustration by Charlie To

(TW: body dysmorphia, eating disorders, loss, self-harm)

everyone here can see your grief

take a seat, pass the tea around

it’s past supper but it’s still tuesday and carrot cake never gets old

conversations about how losing someone is an ache that doesn’t silence have been charting the halls, we never really move on from loss we just move forward with it

something about broken cutlery and swallowing so hard that you choke on your food, broken first family later

the room smells of lavender from the tea and maya from three houses down progresses to talk about how in middle school she’d puke more than she’d eat, how she’s still struggling to decipher which mirror she lost herself to

and at that moment i think to myself

how with time grief takes its course from a scream that doesn’t silence to lingering whispers.

the cake calls for loud chumming and lousy small talk – heartbreak and something about pressing on wounds until fountains of blood spew out, scrubbing the blood clean for months to come

i talk about how i can only always ever picture myself leaving and that i’m so far from knowing myself i can barely draw the periphery

it’s dusky and warm outside, getting darker by the minute as we talk about how the more you breathe the more you gasp for air and some more about anger and guilt and all things human.

take a seat

everyone here can see your grief

it’s much nicer, some solace to breathe

nothing like banter and bonding after the battlefield,

we’re all women that hurt and heal

from lara the cat lady’s greying hair to the youngest one just hitting puberty

we’re all humans.

come sit

take a seat

everyone here can see your grief

and so we talk brazenly on tuesday’s over tea

something something about grieving and shattering and aching

more so about

comprehending and healing

but most of all



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