drag it
that way
across so much of me
in need of coming open.
that utensil is a convocation.
i have seen so much,
doing my undoing
in a matter of lines i draw
and draw and draw through it.
these, the transgressions of my body
assume sagging
just as simply
as more unbroken flesh.
my bathroom mirror
cannot bend nor mend itself
back into existence
as you or i do,
becoming human.
Trigger Warning: Self-Harm
