Guest Post by a WAVAW Volunteer

I carry with me a double-edged knife. I carry this knife close to me, in a hidden pocket.

I keep my wallet there, reaching often.

Outside I carry this knife close to me, brushing against soft, uneasy shoulders.

“Do I deserve friends?” 

This knife I carry with me unsheathed. I carry it with me in my sleep.

(Who gave me this knife?) 

During the day when I walk across campus. I use this knife as a bookmark.

(I do not like knives.) 

During the night when I move across the dance floor. I put the knife inside my shoes.

“Why is there a hole in my pocket?” 

I am learning to cradle the flat edge. Knead it into shape.

“Where did my change go?” 

During the day the dried blood falls within the crevice. During the day I notice marks on my hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

I reach for it often. My fingers bleed.

“Who gave me this knife?” 

I see a dark figure in the night. I see a dark figure resembling him.

“I didn’t ask for this knife.” 

I carry this knife in my pocket.

“Where can I put this knife?”

My fingers bleed.

“You need this knife.” 

I carve something in the walls of the bathroom. When one blade gets dull I use the other.

“You need this knife.” 

I sharpen the blade against the cement.

“Who gave me this knife?” 

I sharpen the blade against a coin.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

I stare at the sun’s reflection against the blade.

“Do I deserve friends?”

Which side shines brighter?

(I’m sorry. I’m sorry.) 

One day I cannot find my knife.

(I deserve friends.) 

One day I buy a new one.

(I deserve better.) 

One day I find the knife I kept for so long in a museum.

(I deserve more than this sharpness.) 

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

(I deserve more than holes in my pocket.) 

I see my reflection in the knife. I see everyone else looking.

“I deserve more. You deserve better.” 

I don’t say anything. I have a new knife.

“I am not sorry.” 

There are creatures on the sheath of my knife. A beautiful object.

I am not sorry. 

I cut vegetables with my knife. I spread jam with my knife.

I like my knife. 

I smile as I grip the handle.

I smile as I cut the bread in half.