I pull stitches you dug into my skin from where there were never wounds
I felt honoured to be loved at all.
You were always there when I got up after the fall, for even if I was bleeding, I bled for you, and at that, I'll walk on
I'll break my ankles and fingers grasping at your plaid
I'll walk from house to house, eight before I am eighteen,
When then I am nothing but skid across the concrete and you are severed from the child support-
That in truth you never payed
the support was all me, you dragging my palms under your
Heals like forgotten toilet paper;
I am an embarrassment, trying to hold you up by lowering myself to the ground.
I'll walk on to see the greens of your eyes in every man that adorns me
Ill drag my body through the grip of bulimia and out of the pool of blood in my bathtub,
And I'll heal before I
run.
