so i take deep breaths

because really,

what else do you want from me?

what else can I give?

you have wrung me dry

you have chewed me up and spat me back out again

and I have written so many poems

about hope and survival

about flowers growing in sidewalk cracks

about the patterns I've carved into my ribs

about sunrises and stars

that i wonder if you've taken all my words from me

i dont think i have any room for those kinds of poems anymore

i think maybe all i have left to give is the air in my lungs

the blood in my veins

i don't know what shape my heart is anymore

i think maybe it's crying

i think maybe it's crippled and bruised and begging

i used to think defeat would feel like a bullet wound, but it doesn't

it feels like the world inside me is shutting down

it feels like falling from a 5 story building and not breaking a single bone

i have nothing left for you to take

but please, don't let that stop you,

you can have the salt from my tears

you can have the oxygen from my lungs

you can have my ashes

you can have the dust and the shadows i leave behind

you can have the marble of my tombstone

you can have the

you can have

you can

you

y