P a r t • 2 We water our trauma until it grows roots, Name the weeds after people we used to love, And pretend like the thorns don’t hurt When they wrap around our ribs, each time we try to breathe. You ever watch someone walk away And feel like they took the gravity with them? Now everything floats— Not in a dreamy way, but in a can’t-ground-myself kind of panic. I’ve been anchoring myself with habits I won’t admit to. Breaking promises like bones I don’t need, Just to feel the crunch of something familiar In a world too soft to notice I'm missing. Some nights, I talk to my reflection like an ex-lover— I Apologize for not leaving sooner. For the bruises I disguised as beauty marks.