I Was A
Snail
One night,
after the rains had gone,
snails
speckled the sidewalk,
soaking up
the moisture and
shimmering
under the streetlights.
CRUNCH.
My
stepfather stepped on one
and
another and another.
Snails
cannot scream,
so I
screamed for them.
STOP.
It was a
silent massacre.
Sharp
shells stabbing
slimy soft
bodies
like
shards of glass,
being
murdered by
your own
home.
Snail
blood is blue like
a serene
ocean gushing out,
a flood of
snail souls washed ashore.
What did
they ever do to you?
Why do you
crush them with your shoe?
My heart
broke with every shattering shell.
Why did
this hurt so bad?
Maybe it’s
because I was a snail, too.
I put up a
shell to shield me,
but he
smashed through it so easily.
I am still
picking out glass shards
from my
skin, six years later.
My blood
is scarlet.
