World Breaker I

I know you don’t want to hear “sorry,” Darling,

and I’m tired of apologizing, to be honest,

so instead, I’m going to say thank you.

When my body betrays me, pale and fleshy and

leaking in ways of which I never want to speak again–

thank you for helping me fight to find light.

And we both know it’s a fight.

I lay in bed, heart full and numb, lead

in my veins and head full of empty and dark

because my eyes are glued shut and my hands are

white-knuckled clutching a blade, swinging wildly to

ward off the words that read as red letters on my wrist

and urge me to write novels as my suicide note.

You do your best to steady my hands

or open my eyes,

and sometimes I slip and, clumsy, cut myself,

but you hold my hands–not my mistakes–against me,

clutched in yours, warm and ready to wipe tears from my eyes

for the thousandth time

for the thousandth time

for the thousandth time.

I hear that sigh escape your lips and I know

you wish I wouldn’t do this to myself because my wrists are pretty

and sometimes I want to promise them to you, but

I know it’s a promise I can’t keep. I wage whole wars

against myself in your name, Beloved, but I know

I wont escape unwounded.

I’m weak.

So forgive me my weakness. You know I hate

to feel the sad when you see me on my knees,

screaming, defeated, but

I’ll break free of this faulting flesh

and slough off these scars

and stand up for the first time

since I was born.



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