The blood drips down my thighs in fighting harmonies.

Disagreeing on the weight in which to debilitate me, its desire to hurt me.

My body clenches, a shooting pain transforms me.

Demanding to immobilize me.

she could’ve found

anyone, I know, the boys

who promised her better in the

beginning would be

baffled if they

knew because she

didn’t choose

anyone (she chose me)

It wasn’t until I

could feel the wind

kissing my hand,

arm hanging out of

your old rusty van

that I realized that

I have a purpose

even if that purpose is purely

letting other people know

that sometimes

I.

If we could be quiet in the small spaces,

maybe they would make excuses for us.

Our bodies, forgiven only once in a while.

We look in the mirror, see dualities of ourselves

and ask them to break. I like the glass between us.