One day I looked at myself and my life and I broke. The walls turned into orange and melted. I was red-cracks and quicksand. I bled for miles. My blood was tar then water. I got sticky until the birds cracked me apart more with their beaks and I softened under the sun. There was a promise. I heard it on the cloud pillows when I buried my face in sky. I burned hot as ether and cold as hell. Another day I found a note I wrote and left in my mind. It was an apology. A promise the world would spin right again. I took it and held it so it wouldn’t crumble or tear or get wet with my tears. When I protected it, a grief tree grew out of my heart. I never felt pain like that. It was more than singing beehives in my brain. It was porcupines growing their quills in my vagina. It ripped me. It turned out I had more blood but it was blue. It ran out until it tinted purple and I found I could stand again. All the rips left scars and all the blood left beauty marks and I was strong from stretching and lifting all the heavy weight of regret. I stepped away from it. I decided to be honest. I decided to find love in all those sharp places. The tree blossomed and the grief fell away with the petals in a breeze. What was left was pink and fresh like a healthy baby. I breathed fire and it cleansed me of a the darkness. I was lit inside everywhere, and that’s when I knew I could make something good from what happened to me. I let go. I decided not to care that my life wasn’t orderly in it’s colors or the shape we like to pretend we are when we look in the mirror of someone else’s eyes. I was me because the shit happened, and I loved me. It was good.

image from pixabay.com

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