poem: reflection

it’s easier to maim your tongue than to admit
that the nights are breaking over your bowed head and on weakened knees
you’re kneeling, weeping for

“what I’ve lost, mama,

what I am, what I have become and look

what he made out of me.

look what the world crafted from my scarred and softened heart flesh and my happiness, (peacock feathers in their faces), and my knowing (blades for gutting) and my loving, oh, god, my loving. I’m on my knees, now, and
look, look, mama. your most precious, the darling
of your shattered glass loins
has come undone.”

– t. bennett / @raggedhearts

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