i am a bone-tired girl,

picking the soot from under her nails

black half-moons of nights i let you ruin,

and deciding it’s not enough to feel pleasure.

i want the string to turn into something useful,

perhaps a door, a road that walks away from you.

 

i walk through every room we poisoned,

open every bedroom drawer,

throw out the half-dead turtle plants,

the crumpled apology notes,

the hope i kept watering

with tears i couldn’t afford.

 

i wash the sheets in water hot enough to scald,

watch the stains of you turn the color of rust.

i hang them on the line

until the sun bleaches every ghost

until they smell only of wind

and the small fierce life i’m growing back.

 

now i am a one-woman riot

in yesterday’s old sweats and war paint,

spilling red wine on the couch

you said was too expensive to ruin.

i laugh loud enough to crack the ceiling,

i dance until the floor forgets your footsteps.

 

the volume climbs past the red line,

every song you hated now a daily ritual,

neighbors pound the walls and i pound back,

because this is my house, my air, my noise,

and i will blow the roof off

before i ever make myself small for you again.

 

this riot has no leader but me,

no curfew,

no permission slip,

no man’s name on the deed to my body,

no surrender left in my bones,

or the force to “be sweet” carved into my ribs.

 

the door closes behind me

with the soft click

of a woman

who carries her own key

and a heart that finally fits herself.

she no longer needs to be let in.