i was a worn dollar bill
folded and unfolded and crumpled so many times
that even the smell of worth had all but been rubbed off
those who rushed past stopped once or twice to ask me what was wrong
offering to carry those heavy bags under my eyes
not even they could bear the weight
they’d leave after a while, dropping condolences on their way
a trail of breadcrumbs i couldn’t bring myself to eat, let alone follow
sometimes i sang to the birds, the only things that would wake with me in the cold mornings
i washed my hands in freezing water
to jolt my nerves; to make them feel
to remind them they are part of me
and i am human
and i must feel
i carved my heart out for nothing
and it left me with a broken ribcage
slashed thighs and the marks from cigarettes
(i still won’t let him touch me there)