It was the day that you told me that I'm a liar,
that I have chosen to build up my falsities on the bones of people more truthful than me,
That I don't like myself enough to look into my reflection,
It was the day that I felt my bones shaking beneath the surface,
My veins turned into train tracks and I let the truth barrel its way through,
Now I'm a tourist under my own skin,
I no longer hide behind the missteps of other people,
And I see what I have done without judgement,
under a blanket of snow, in the winter waiting on the sun to defrost
and grow every bit of me new again