poetry for the poetic: 5

LXXXV

i'm still growing.

sure, maybe yesterday i had a little too much to drink and i took a look at my life and felt like athena was whispering, "oh, you poor child. what have you done?"

maybe i have some cuts and scrapes that still haven't healed, maybe my heart is still bruised and so i cringe when i place it into your waiting palms. maybe i'm breathing a little ragged because i swallowed all the mirrors in my house so i wouldn't stare at my reflection and try to rip my skin from its bones anymore.

i have a crooked grin but smiles aren't meant for perfection. my knuckles are bloody and raw from attacking the concrete cage i have built around myself, but today, i broke a hole and i saw daylight for the first time. and guess what?

i'm still growing.