spit or swallow

my bones         are hollow

I’ve had to let go of so many pieces of myself

to make room for you

little crumbs dropped in fauna

to find my way home but

where

is home?

my arms        are fractured

you’ve asked me to carry so much weight and I

have said yes and said yes and said yes and now

you are angry because I, because we, because she

is saying

is saying

is screaming

NO.

I am not a rehabilitation program for broken

men.

the weight is too great and

and the anger is a ghost

and the fear is a powdery moth choking my words

so I spit it out.

I don’t swallow anymore.

 

*this piece originally appeared in Thirty West’s Tilde- Issue 2, available for purchase here