This origami heart of mine has been crushed under the
weight of your hollowness too many times to count. I
have folded and unfolded myself in hopes for a more
tolerable version. I have tried to rid myself
of sharp edges and abrasive surfaces, but my jaw still
stiffens when you say my name. I have learned to
duck when a man reaches out for me. I have learned
to walk with a blade in my lip. I have folded one
thousand cranes and lit them on fire hoping for
something to fill your shell. But I cannot. No, I will
not. Not anymore. Loving yourself was the last
thing you were good at, and I came after, or
not at all. I was always second rate, second place,
a shadow to your ego that always needed stroking.
Go. Just go.
So you did, but I need you to come
back to take your emptiness with
you. It is still blood on the walls, the heart
shaped wound in my thigh. It is still the weight
on my chest, and I need to escape this iron lung.
Even if the weight of the world crushes my ribs,
at least I will have remembered how to break
chains loose and feel my spirit wrap itself around me.
