Self-Image

My hand closes around a broken piece of
blue eyes and freckles
and I squeeze so that I
can't see the girl that
used to be.

I pick up too-small hands and too-big thighs
and I throw them away
because I need to be
empty and nothing and skeletons
don't cry.

Shaky knees shatter against the wall because
they have no place in
this world of confident,
shiny people who do not
ever break their mirrors.