You always had to be strong but I
wanted to believe I could see through you
I traced your outline and
tried not to flinch when you
sliced my fingertips

I quickly learned that love is not fear
fear is when you called me
and told me you didn't love your father
your words wrapped around my throat and
pressed heavy on my chest and I
finally felt you
not in my heart but in
the marrow of my bones

You had seen things that I
could not bear to hear but I
had to bear them for you
I heard your mother's leg snap
and you shatter on the ground and I
stood over the fractures of you with
my needle and thread and
cried for the parts of you that would
never be the same

then I picked up a shard
and carved your name in my skin so I
could see you in rich, romantic crimson
but as the tides rose, I
inhaled the ocean water, I
let go of your hand, I
let my tears join the salty expanse
and swore on that night I
would never cry again

The dawn broke and the sun saw
a different world, with
your broken pieces at the bottom
of the sea, and
the soles of my feet have healed, but
you still sleep in the sand, scraping
the skin of those who have strayed
too far from the surface.