when the cracks in my palms wanted to
leak secrets like loose faucets, i resisted
stitching them back together with people
who did not deserve me.
i pressed my hands against a mirror, told
the glass to read all that i had been through,
and disregarded the response.
i won myself over like a trophy,
left my body crumbled in a heap
on the cold tile of the shower,
built myself back up again.
my eyes left salt water streaks across my
pillowcase and i didn't do the laundry for
weeks to trick myself into moving on.
i wavered between wanting the impossible
and expecting the inevitable.
i created all of my tomorrows by holding on
as if there wouldn't be any.