Unmade Bed – Stephanie Bennett-Henry

I never could make sense out of my own heart. The way it hurts

like it was broken in the womb, and I reach for everything like

an umbilical cord. I wonder about the moment when this life became

too bright for the battlefield behind my eyes. I close them, thinking

maybe I can spare someone from this empty cannon in my chest

that is still smoking. Nobody wants to walk through this ash that

is still burning in my mouth from all the words I was too cowardly

to speak, because those words were filled with too many sorrys.

It gets cold when you force yourself to lie down in a unmade bed

of your own silence and that silence always was as messy as the

noise of what you never said anyway. I want to plan a sleep over

with my own heart to see how long it…