words often rest in my chest

covered in saliva

their shrapnel falling into my stomach

eroding away at the care I’ve taken

to make myself feel

loved.

 

I’d like to believe in second chances

but there is a little girl

sitting on the colloquy boulder

resting in my gut

reminding me of the once flourishing

pond that existed there

 

before the hurt landslid in

giving the pain

an island

for its manifest destiny

to latch onto

 

while it crawls

from my stomach

back into my chest

leaving my head

to fight between my gut

and my heart

alone.