one would never understand the things i endured
just to become bruised into softness.
like a graveyard beaten down
by the endless steps of mourners—

each footprint a weight of wanting,
each step a trial of trying.

how strange, that what i desired most became the very thing that left me hollow. teeth pressing on these lips, crimson whispers itself away, staining the dark. my chest caves, my hands remember violence, fingernails carve crescents into my palms—

all this, just so i could tame these tendencies,
until my hands forget their fists
and tremble into quiet.