I am grieving for my past selves

the selves that never made it

fractured fragments longing to be found

pockets of secrets
and black as ink truths
that I have carried with me

forever

and yet, they were tossed aside,
and burnt with the waste,
as if hazardous to continue existing

I grieve for them,
and for myself,

walking around with this
huge hole in my heart,

but I walk on, and mend, as best I can -

bandaids, staples, superglue,

repairing the cracks and yet,
having the courage to weep for what
has caused the wound