Cracking open my ribcage,

digging out all of my rot.

My mistakes linger beneath

my fingernails like dirt.

Planting a new seed inside,

one that will flourish

into something worth looking at,

worth coming back to,

if only I remember to water it each day.

I am beginning again.

You were going to marry me. We could’ve had a baby.

“You’re weak as fuck.”