I would like to rely a little more on myself
and not see hope as a chore,
like eating healthy or being kind to my anxiety,
something other than just coping
when lack of sleep slides into the bed beside me
and swears he’s the only intimacy I’m worth.
Can I place a hand over where it hurts,
yours or mine, or both together,
allow scars to touch bare skin
without lying about their origin,
my longings and wishful thinkings,
mistakes and misplaced trust.
Of the things I find hard to accept,
the most difficult is knowing
how the next steps require
I must let go of them all.