I gather what’s left of me
The way dawn gathers frost
Slow
Careful
Almost afraid to breathe
Each shard remembers something
A voice I trusted
A promise that cracked
A softness I dropped on the way to surviving
I turn them in my hands
Until the edges stop drawing blood
Until the shape of me
Starts to look less like a warning
And more like a beginning
Nothing fits the way it used to
But maybe that’s the point
To build a self that can hold tight
Without shattering
To rise from the floor
Not perfect
Just whole enough to keep going