[“Split into pieces. Displaced from the center. I wanted to choose the best version of myself and give it to you”]
I ran with faces that looked like strangers. Magenta skies, rooftop sunsets, empty bottles that made me feel okay. That was what consumed me. You said it was sad, but I found it beautiful, because the strangers somehow knew each layer of me. Maybe they were ghosts. Maybe we are all ghosts. I’m grabbing onto the pieces to try to salvage something. This is the choreography coated in confessions. I need to practice the steps of forgiveness in order to love myself. I close my eyes and see dark pools and flashes of light that turn into memories. It feels like my youth and it feels like kryptonite, only I’m no hero. I never was. You try to save me, but I don’t need saved. I’m sorry I never say enough. Sorry that the pieces of me sliced open your palms as you tried to pick them up.