Sarai Daley
Sarai’s Poems
-
I thought it was love
the way he said my name like a scripture
like he was kneeling at the altar for me
like he prayed with his hands
and I was the amen.
And I?
I was holy.
I was wide-eyed and worshipful
I let him in
called it intimacy
called it trust
called it love
Pause
I allowed him to take ahold of my strings
allowed him to be my everything
got me writing poems like scriptures
etching his name in verses
as if divinity had a first name
And it was his
he said i was his everything
hypnotized me into believing it
until “everything”
meant my voice too.
Since he was older
I thought I had a voice too
So I kept going on clueless
playing student
thought his cruel words were just
lessons on how to be worthy
thought I was learning usefulness
when really I was unlearning myself
Pause
And then he touched me
like I was his nothing
reached past the gates of consent
like they were unlocked for him
Because he bought and paid for a room
in compliments and "I love you"s
that came with conditions too.
THAT I froze too
cuz how do you scream
when the person hurting you
still says “baby”
with a softness
that sounds like safety
And honestly
When he put his hands on you it didn't feel like safety
But you couldn't say baby back
Because you thought he was your safe key
Thought he could unlock your heart
And bring happiness
But you realized what happened is
Your heart bleed
quietly
in the corner of a bed
You once thought was sanctuary.
Pause
And the worst part?
I still tried to love him after.
I still tried to call it confusion.
Convincing myself I was too young to understand his mature thoughts
Thought I had to do the things he wants me to do so he could love me
Just wanted him to feel the love for me I felt for him
Then
I paused
and looked at my body in the mirror
wondered if he’d seen love
in the curves I hadn’t grown into yet
if the hollow in my chest
could hold the shape of his desire
if silence could sound like devotion
if my obedience earned affection.
So I quieted the no
and softened the maybe
let him read my skin
like it was an invitation
when really it was just
me trying to be enough.
I gave him my body
like an answer to a question
I didn’t understand
thinking maybe if I let him in
he’d finally stay
thinking maybe if I hurt the right way
he’d finally love me whole.
And when it hurt
I told myself it was supposed to
that this was what grown love felt like
even when it hollowed me out.
This went on for years
Every night, I laid beside the ache
Tried to quiet the war inside my chest
But the dreams kept dragging me back
Whispering all the ways I could’ve been better
Telling me he would have loved me
if I just did it right
So I continued
to try and do everything right
And I bled
Slit every feeling in my heart and buried it
Did everything he wanted me to do and buried it
Didn't listen to anyone who cared and buried them
This went on for years
The walls knew my cries before my mother did
But I stayed silent when she knocked
Held my breath when she asked
Told her I was just tired
Told myself I was just sensitive
And wore the ache like a second skin
Carried it quiet, so no one could see
Because breaking would mean admitting it was never love
And I wasn’t ready to lose the lie
Because I thought it was love
Until I broke
Barricaded myself in a shell of self-doubt
Told myself it was only because I was young
That I didn’t know how to be sacred enough
Didn’t know how to be his amen
how to make my body a temple he’d stay to worship
how to hold him like scripture
without shaking
Told myself I couldn’t satisfy him
because I hadn’t learned how to pray the right way
Told him I couldn’t want to satisfy you
when the altar started to feel like a grave
when devotion began to sound like silence
when love no longer looked like God
And then we broke up.
-
They call her bag lady.
She lives on the streets of forgiveness
Located on the roads of "caretaker"
Not because she’s homeless,
but because her arms are full
of everyone else’s emergencies.
She knows the sound of a breaking voice
better than her own laugh.
If you need a place to fall,
she will be the floor.
If you need a place to cry,
she will hand you her shoulder,
even if she doesn't have one of her own.
She will give you the comfort you need so you don't fall like she did.
She has to be perfect
Never able to let people see her break
So she can build people up.
She hold bags of everyones feeling never letting even one drop
But inside
She can't even take care of herself
People say she's in the way
Not appreciating the baggage she is carrying
She knows the weight of feeling down
So she takes it from others
She weighs so much everything feels like glass
At anytime something might crack
Her identity is a secret
Because she does express the pain
She could be your mother,
your sister,
your friend,
or even you.
She goes by the name
Bag lady…
carrying the weight of strangers,
co-workers,
lovers who only came to unload and leave,
Worries of doors closing
The fear of others not being balanced
But here’s the thing—
she’s still dragging her own past
Every shake in her hands dragging a suitcase of worry
the kind that wobbles and catches on every crack.
Inside is another “I’m sorry”
every friendship that ghosted her,
every version of herself she didn’t know how to love.
The load is so heavy
she doesn’t see sunlight unless it bends around the bags.
And still—
people will say she’s in the way.
They’ll sigh when they have to walk around her.
They don’t see that she is holding
pieces of their storms
so they can walk lighter.
People ask her why
Why not let it all go
Why not put it on someones else
But they don't realize
If she ever stopped,
if she ever let even one bag drop—
there would be a sound
like glass hitting concrete,
Everyone would scream and yell at her
For not being enough
For being too much
For not being perfect
So for now,
She just keeps moving.
one bag at a time,
Adding day by day
because it feels safer
to break her own back
than to break anyone else's.
