Empty Houses


They told me, “Write what hurts.”
So I chose a pen the color of my silhouette
against a door frame
but could only draw empty houses.

They told me, “Write what hurts.”
And I etched the weight of my tongue into the desk,
not accounting for the words
that swelled behind my teeth,
wondering how long it would take
for my jaw to erode.

She said, “Don’t break glass just to walk through it.”
And I said, “I can’t feel anything anymore.”

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