Reforestation

Content warning: This poem contains discussions of risky behavior that could be upsetting for someone with a history of self-harm.

.

I tried skipping half the chapters in that book but I

still couldn’t get through it and eventually you

took out the bookmark and said, “You don’t have to do this,

I’m making the decision, you should read something you like,”

and of course for some reason that made me want to finish it,

broken thing that I am, being cared for makes me want to

do wrong things, I ask to be fed just to bring your hand close

enough to bite, I lean too close to the fire and adjust the logs

with my own hand too fast to get burnt but it upsets you I know

it does but I need to do it and to chop the vegetables

for dinner too fast so that you have to leave the room because

you’re scared I’ll slice my fingers and it makes me mad that you

don’t want me to be hurt and why?

I am someone who breaks, I am someone

who breaks and heals, who has broken so many

times over things that no longer mean anything,

a few others that still sting, but now I know I am someone

who can’t be ultimately broken, not in a way I can’t recover from,

I am like the bones and the plants, always growing back, even if

it looks a little different, even my worst nightmares are things I could

recover from, and why does it feel like a betrayal to think that even

losing you could be borne, yes I would break more than ever before,

but I would live through it and I would live through it all

About The Author
Filed Under

Share Your Stories

Always free. Always open. Always paid.