It’s the pain I know
The crumbling that
Felt smooth in my hands
Callused from
(Trying)
Holding it all
Dropping pieces the whole time
***
I fell to the kitchen floor
Again and again
Trying to push things together
So no one would notice
(especially me)
***
I told myself: breaking was the quickest path to building
(I told myself a lot of things, those days, these days)
***
And these impossible nights
Where my hands are empty
Because nothing is breaking
I don’t know what to do
***
I don’t know what to do
When I’m not desperate with
Skinned knees and sore heart
(it’s too quiet)
***
So I chip at my well-being
with tools I kept, anyway,
rusted gifts, sharp and knowing
and watch pieces fall
I know the comfort of broken
I know how to fix instead of feel
I ache for the familiar
and I want to forget its name
***
I want to know how to put these
tools down
how to recognize these empty hands
held
and still