i like to play around with the letters
of their names, pretending
that the ghosts of their broken hearts
do not haunt me. they banded
to make a boomerang of his single
i never knew my ribcage was so fucking useless.
we add -aversaries to everything;
to celebrate pain is to give it meaning.
today is a whatifaversary,
then he said what they all say
‘you have proven your strength.
you can do anything.’
i play with my gold rings
-promises to myself-
torn thoughts on a loop.
who am i to overcome
the skinny handwriting of my childhood?
yet, today, i did not burst
like the pinata karma tried to make me.
i almost didn’t cry.
and that’s supposed to mean something.
This is not a poem per se. I do not know what this is. My writing has gone stale. Bear with me until I can bare all again.