I have bled out
every last injustice you left me the deed to,
I have sobbed out
every last cruel word
you imprinted on my memory,
and I have shed every last scab you gifted me.
My skin is shiny and new,
pink with scar tissue,
thick from you.
By the time I am done,
I will have opened myself up and poured you out,
and I will wait out these hollow times
until I have filled myself up again,
back to the brim,
until I overflow,
until all these things are joys instead of sorrow.
