The covers cried out
as I break free of their greedy,
jealous grasp. First small victory…
I’m supposed to count those you know?
To remind myself to keep moving.
I still cut out my heart today
and sat it on the kitchen table.

The knife smiled at me,
small victory for it I guess.
I felt the air slaloming
between my ribs
on its way to my spine,
where it grabbed hold.
Cold, unforgiving.

I should be used to the cold,
it’s the same every today.
My needle pierces the scars
as I sew the thick flesh back in place,
to keep the cold out, of course.
Reminding me of the days
the victories weren’t enough.

I stand and put on my sweater,
grab the heart, and throw it in the trash
on my way to the covers
to ask their forgiveness for thinking
I would be strong enough today.
The victories can wait until tomorrow
after all.

For you
I will be the housewife
and obey
and put on my stained apron
with my weathered cracking hands
and cook
your meals hot

For you
I will be the mother
and tell our wonderful blessings
of the perfect man
I met
and how he
fixed me

For you
I will be the good daughter
and force a fake smile
when your mother tells you
that you could do better


For you
I will be the friend
and be your punching bag
in your drunken state
and forgive you
when you come too

For you
I will be the love of your life
and be with you
in all your hardships
and puffy eyes
that even I can’t understand