It’s about this time every year

That I find myself looking for my identity in hollow vases, 

fists that have since lost their purpose and endless empty prayers

 

It’s about this time every year

I search for myself in people who cannot hold my entirety inside of them

 

Making faces into mirrors has only ever made me seem so much smaller

 

It’s about this time every year

That I call to the person I will be tomorrow,

for I know she will be worth this pain 

 

It’s about this time every year

I search for myself in the people I have been, who have always held me 

 

Not collateral damage, but a collage

 

It’s about this time every year

I must remind myself of this to go on

 

And I do

 

Every day, every year

I go on.