she writes these words and passes them to me—
pain is easier when shared.
fingers intertwined,
ill-fated loves be ******, we turned ourselves to gold
and reveled in our own brightness,
shining fierce through the icy mists of uncertainty.

the day after Thanksgiving my sister shatters my monitor and
I scream myself hoarse, cry tears that burn hot and angry.
my friends tell me that this is abuse.
they ask me when I will be free.
I close my eyes,
whisper softly to myself,
“have spirit, not spite!”
and somehow breathe myself
back to life.

my father still looks at me
and tells me I am wider than the day before
as if I do not look in the mirror and mourn the sight of myself.
I am not what they expected.
smiling, (he thinks he means well),
I say that I can only grow as I get older
and let the weight slide off my shoulders.
it is not my job to carry the burden
of his unfulfilled dreams.

my sister kicks open my door to wake me,
calls me useless,
and stalks off. she will return with more poison, in time.
I return to my sleep,
unconcerned,
an antidote of my own
against their relentless venom.
soon I will purge two decades of toxicity
from my heart.