an open letter to my body, on the bad days
i’m sorry for the chapped lips.
i’m sorry for the turtlenecks
and the dark circles
and the whole bag of chocolate chip cookies.
i’m sorry for taking everyone i’ve ever loved
and stitching their voices into you
like white lines on a highway
or an infinite game of hangman;
i know it must hurt
to be made up of so many destinations
that you forget how to spell your own name.
i’m sorry for always wanting you smaller.
for expecting you to swallow guilt
and too much hot coffee,
for the bitterness i made you eat
because i thought it would cure the lonely.
i know it burned going down,
and i know you deserve better,
and i know you can’t live off apologies either,
so let me say
thank you for your patience.
for teaching me to unclench my fists
and tilt my head skyward,
for giving me breath
after long, weary breath.
today was a bad day,
but tomorrow won't be.
i can feel it, and
i love you, and
i'll see you there.