draft / myself (in fragments)

waking up with bruised

aching legs

and a reminder to feed a cactus

that died over a year ago

it is loving things so much 

that your heart is a collection of shattered glass

dangling on strings

still catching the light

it is a series of words 

and paint splotches 

and spilled soda

hissing on the pavement

fire and determination 

to prove that you can do this

you can do this

you can be successful

you can win

it is hollowness 

cold and the absence of human warmth

empty eyes

and sadness that echoes

echoes

echoes 

but also

the fragile whisper at the end of the day

that says,

"you are good."

"do not forget to love."