By Fiona Czerwinski
I have been too rough.
I have been one with the one who knows me best.
I have slowly worn down the people who were willing to stay
Like the ocean erodes the rocks to sand,
The sand to dust,
The dust to air.
And yet I challenge my God complex.
I look myself in the bathroom mirror
Of the home that is not really mine
And tell myself that I must be rough.
That I must be more.
That I must turn people to dust.
From dust to air.
I must breathe them in and
Let them go.