cry. scream. bang your fists against the walls
that keep you locked inside.
kick your feet in the air. tell your sister she's stupid
and wrong and that you've never loved her.
cry. scream. apologize via him to you.
let your tears catch on your lashes
until you can no longer see anything but your own
demise. taste the bitterness left in
your mouth from your own bitching and rot in it.
break a mug. break two. kick
the pieces around the kitchen floor and cry some more.
break a plate. break a cup. break a bowl.
break a finger because nothing can take away this
sort of pain. you are empty and yet
you are filled with so much anger.
break a razor and paint pictures across your skin.
you are okay, you tell them.
you break three days later and you lie
in bed, unable to move.
start picking up the pieces. clean up the mess
you've made and he's left.
use windex to polish off the dirt and
buff out the scratches while you are at it.
wash the carpet where the blood
stained and vacuum over it. date someone else.
and when he takes advantage of
you wish on every fucking star in the night sky
that he would come back damnit please
cry because that's all you do these days
is cry yourself a river.
and you just keep hoping that one day it'll take
you in its currents and drown you so that
you don't have to do it yourself.
you're still broken, but it's okay because
just look at how mosaics are made.
you're beautiful if you're still breathing, baby.