Drooping, Wilting

It all ran down my face—

the cuts were vertical and 

the drops of my embarrassed eyes

wetting themselves

hit the pavement heels first.

It stressed me out to not know

what I would become but knowing

I would transform and feel the searing pain

of new roots bursting out of my back,

having new blood that 

came to be by swirling around my brain.

I was a girl turning on my axis

with a disturbance

from my revolution

that rivaled the smooth engineering 

of Earth’s legs.

I was becoming a girl

who would feel ill forever—

the type of girl who 

could only wipe at the throb 

when it wept,

paint it in thick white cream when it 

began to turn red 

until I lost control and

clawed at my burning surface

until I broke the seal.

With the scrape of my bulldozing nails,

I began to feel something eternal.