I
The hell with your false bravado
Your obligatory resilience bores me to death
Show me instead, your
Soft wounds, open hand
Show me the stubbornness of your trust
And I will open to you like a tasty wound.
II
A broken bone, improperly healed
Must be rebroken to reset correctly
I break myself open
One hundred times a day
I'll never heal correctly—
I make certain of it.
This is my demonstration
Against your bloody bootstrap imperative
I hoisted my sign the first time at thirteen, lying half unconscious beneath the
Head cheerleader's mother's tire
They said I might lose the foot
Instead, I gained a gentle new thing
Softness can be stubborn too.
III
Carrie:
Each time I think of your last days in that horrible bed
I'm haunted by your blue hands
Toward the end, they'd tied them down so you couldn't extubate yourself.
The finality came, your stone hand in mine, I watched your chest heave
Artificially
Long after the screen told me that your heart had stopped.
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