slivers of myself.

[whitbit]

I am the girl with the tiny wrists,
settled on being so.
Never meant to feel whole, I sit.
undoubtably, irrevocably broken.

I am the girl with the tiny wrists,
who let her hand get stuck in a fence,
and instead of moving, I lean in.
the cold steel soothing to the touch.

I rest my face against my arm, and I
watch
the pale grey blood seep up, almost
to the edge of of my skin.
Is it pain?
I remember then, I have chosen this.

I live inside the broken slivers of myself.
freeing themselves from the fence to live another adventure.

My eyes blur and I'm watching the sky turn orange and red
on top my favorite hill, in my favorite place, laying quiet.
I am never alone,
I rise and fall with your breath,
slow and calming.

I breathe in heaps of lavendar and grass.
My face softens and I think, this is it.

a breeze lands on my cheek,
a bug crawls down my arm,
delicately slipping between each thin blonde hair as he walks.

My eyes refocus.
I remember, I have chosen this.
I adjust my wrist to make room for the moss
that has grown in around me.

I send off another sliver of myself into the world,
hoping it comes back with a story to tell
of how I loved, and how I lived.