there were nights
I would wake up with water
pooled in my ducts.
I would look to my side,
gather the strength to roll over
and crush the company that wasn’t there.
I was beyond what we know as lonely.
with terminally wounded feminity,
singed in healing fire,
I was not quite ready to be reborn.
I often wash myself with these memories
and absorb them into my skin.
I often breathe into her and thank her for letting me begin.
– sheila c