Clean

She breathe deep, thinking of all the nights she would cry,
letting everything get to her.
She was finally able to breathe.
She was finally free.
She was finally clean.
She fell back into her ocean with a small touch.

Remembering all the days she couldn’t touch
the surface. She would cry
for help. Beg for fresh air to come and clean
her lungs. Beg for anyone to help her
break free.
Beg for air to breathe.

When she couldn’t breathe
she’d touch
and press her wrist. The feel of it would free
a portion of her pain, but still she would cry.
There was no around her
to help her get clean.

She didn’t know getting clean
would be this hard. The constant struggle to breathe.
The constant drowning in her
ocean. The constant need for someone to love and touch.
All she could do was cry
and wait for someone, anyone, to free

her. One day, though, she did break free.
She did get clean.
She finally didn’t cry.
She finally could breathe.
She didn’t find someone to touch
but she realized her

worth was much more than that. Her
worth was how free
she could live. Not someone to touch.
Being clean
was about your own terms. Learning when to stop and breathe
and when to stop and cry.

    

She would not be pushed to cry, she would let nothing get to her.

She would breathe and be free.

She was now clean, with only the sky to  touch.