388

388 days since i,

for the last time, broke,

since i lost my way,

since the last time i was mistaken in what

i needed to do, should do.

388 days of hard work to

bury

my past under layers of dirt and effort

and sometimes make up to cover the scars.

now sometimes i can finally think that i'm

free,

free to soar and roam and get tangled up,

without being scared of my mind,

my hands,

my wrists,

scared of what might happen if i get too close

to my pain,

to my veins,

to my blood

that spills all too easily.

388 days,

and now all i have are memories

of teenage pain and shame

that fade quickly into the past,

because tomorrow will be

389.