I don’t eat bread anymore, don’t eat dessert anymore, don’t eat anymore, apparently.
I was unaware until she shattered all of the mirrors
with her words, slicing away the pieces of me
she didn’t care for with broken glass,
carving out everything
until I was
She doesn’t know the gnawing hunger, doesn’t know the bruises, doesn’t know, apparently.
Four years of sitting on my hands, nearly breaking my thinning bones,
willing myself not to lose control and disappoint her,
and she still doesn’t know, because
how do I tell her that I am
slowly but surely killing
myself and it’s
I am sick
of the sharpness
of my bones, pressing
to escape my body so that I
can finally be made only of air, am sick
of seeing my distorted figure in a mirror that
was broken and destroyed by her, am sick, clearly.
She tried to cover me in roses but instead shredded me to pieces
with thorns that I will have to pick out piece by piece, and I will be alone,
but when it’s over, I will fill my lungs with life, will fill my cracked mind and mirrors,
will fill my hollow body and heart with love, will fill myself continuously until I overflow.
I will understand the difference between hatred of one’s actions and hatred of the person,
and so I will forgive her for darkening my soul, but her echoes will no longer ring in my house.