To the girl I used to be: it’s going to be okay.
She breaks more.
breaking intestines as she swears on stars that one day she will be light enough to fly away,
breaking her mind as her thoughts swing like the swing set where she lost her innocence to a man she called father
(back and forth, back and forth),
breaking skin to show the sun how she can glisten too
(how she can be happy too, how she can feel powerful too),
breaking her heart as she isolates herself in her basement room
(droopy eyes, drawn blinds),
breaking bones as she bashes to remind herself that she is a failure that deserves it
(over, and over)
breaking her soul with the breaking of her body with the breaking of her life
(she is hurting till she doesn’t hurt).
She breaks more
(more, and more)
because she wants to
(because she needs to, has to),
and crack by crack
(break by break)
c r u m b l e.
(but she lived till today, and it’s a miracle I say)