Year, end.

Dear 2013,

Mouth bloody
from biting my tongue
so hard for so long, my heart
can’t even speak through
my pen.

For every tear shed
in grief, in panic,
in excruciating isolation,
in doubt, in self-loathing and
in guilt

I open my eyes.

2013, you are the Year of Chaos
and of Silence.
I’m too tired. Battle-weary.
Worn skinny, exhausted
down to the dust inside my bones.
Too everything to explain
so you just have to believe that

There were hundreds of moments, 2013,
gifts, I might bitterly say, when
my heart would
feeling like I was a crane fly held
by my wings and
some curious child was plucking my legs off
one at a time, studying
how it made my body silently writhe,

Moments that will scatter across
my coming years in a clatter of
marbles dropped
from the roof and settle into
my wrinkles as Experience,
Wisdom, Witty Anecdote.

But not this year, 2013.
You don’t get credit for any of
those future trophies.
You don’t get credit for
the scars that have yet to form.

I get credit for arriving,
shattered and staggering,
at the last hour
of the last day
of this hellish year.

Fuck you, 2013. I win.


About bittersweetverse

Writer, poet, lover. View all posts by bittersweetverse

12 responses to “Year, end.

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