Fortune Teller

I give her my hands to hold. Tell her
this body knows how to hold,
knows how to fill till it is too full.
My words fall like sharp daggers that I spill into her palms, 
tell her some words only cut so she must swallow them fast. 
The truth hurts, as it goes down, how we try to hold these lumps down.
Try to stomach them. To give to others, who can stomach them.
Whisper thoughts so heavy like sand weights. My anchors, for her.
Ask for a fortune. Tell her that this is all I have to give. 

She says, “You are glass, cracking now, your clean breaks will always be lies. You’ll cut your hands checking.  You will always check.”


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