A backbone
to hold me up,
steady me slightly until
I fall short of all I need to be.
A backbone, or more
a wishbone,
pulling, always getting the shorter end.
Always ripping to shreds chances
of hopes,
of dreams,
of things.
This weight was always heavy, and
these thoughts were lighter than air,
But dust in my hands,
just the same as the ashes
of the words I failed to speak,
of the words spoken out of
haste and hate to me.
Apologies,
you said,
are for those not forgiven.
Live with no reason to be sorry.
It is too late to go back and
change what has been done.
Curved,
damaged,
torn backbone–
hold me up,
steady me still.
Ripped down the middle in
hopes for better
days.

Alexa Stephens is a college student and aspiring writer from New York. She overthinks everything but is perfectly okay with that. She can usually be found reading a good book or binge-watching a TV show, but she occasionally steps out to browse secondhand bookstores. More than anything, she loves spending time with her dog and her best friend, and she never passes up an opportunity to watch the sunrise.