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
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
I am not a rehabilitation program for broken
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