i was enough all along.

lately i've only got a lot of dusty drafts
and happy thoughts,
and i think i never needed you
to make me good.

why did they hurt her, she's kind.

she wrote me a letter

that made my chest-walls buckle--

so when i greeted her today,

i slid my lips beneath the bag

they'd bow-tied at her neck and

marked with "broken,"

i pressed my lips to the bone

and whispered

"they lied."

she called me pretty

and i didn't even doubt it;

she tells truths,

i know because she wrote her note in pen.