i wish
i weren’t so
sensitive
that i could
let go and
breathe deep
without this
constant
weight on my
chest
that i didn’t
feel every
single cut
as if it
sliced my
mind to ribbons
i should have
grown a callus
from the
repetition of
razors sliding
yet i remain
a paperthin
bundle of
exposed nerves

letting go
and giving up
are not the
same exhalation
i have tried
only to bring
myself back
over the same
dead end scenarios
in the quiet
between grating
inhalations

with each
new breaking
i grow more
jagged in my
delusions
a glass cactus
gone brittle
around the edges
leaving slivers
embedded in
helping hands
seeking only
to help themselves
my greatest
strength is in
my overabundance
of weaknesses
jealous of the
moon reflecting
yesterday’s light