Perfection is out the question
my broken pieces lying scattered
at my feet and I contemplate where
to begin the incisions, the operations
to put myself back together again.
My mind yells in rage, so insane
Morse code, jumbled thought
at the cliff edge of captivity.
They say to speak what you feel
Can the mountains hear my whisper
my silence muffled scream?
One step at a time, I drag my feet
only to end up where I started
a pile of mistake covered in snow,
a cave, a hollow hole in my heart.
Where do I start? the cut, the blood
the pull, the tug.
To become something,
more, something better.
To be someone, that isn’t
who I used to be.