i know you

i’ve seen every little fragmented shard of your soul
every twinkling fairy light
every aching bruise
i’ve lifted every flap and gazed through every hotel door peekhole
searched under every rug and felt the bottom of every drawer
reached under the bed and the dark spaces between the couch cushions
i’ve coaxed out every skittish secret
and laid them all out in the yard

i sorted them into piles: keep, consider, throw away
i decided the same way you collect sea glass at the shore
some choices were smooth and certain
they had wave caressed edges you can run the pads of your fingers over
and the sunlight filtered through, green and foggy and calm
some decisions needed thought and careful hands
wondering if the edges were still yet too fresh and eager to slice
only half formed and not quite ready to be parted from the gentle lull of the sea
the rest were bottles being shattered as i considered them
still tainted with the overflowing emotion that splintered the glass
these pieces i picked up, and tossed into the sea
whistling through the air and landing with hardly a splash
disappearing far too innocently
sinking oh so sweetly

one day those shards will come tumbling back up your shores of thought
i will pick them up once more
and toss them back
over and
over and
over and
over again
until they’re butter soft
and your skin no longer breaks at contact

this is how i will learn to love every atom of my self
 all of my silk and sandpaper pieces
until all the secret notes stuffed into the bottles of my being
are love letters to myself
and the broken glass glittering along the beach
shines like stars