All my friends live in my bones.

They hold onto the sticks and stones for safekeeping. Sometimes I think I’m selfish for keeping them so close to me, but I can’t help it.

They ache and pang and crack at times, but maybe that’s just growing pains.

My friends protect my heart. They rattle my ribcage when danger is near- eating harsh words that everyone promised wouldn’t hurt me.

I’m smelling the fire. I’m worried everyone will know that I hold the match. Embers in between my teeth- I’m holding them there like a secret. I watch everything I’ve ever known burn to nothing. The world scooped it up and gave it back to me in an urn and I’m sick of trying to fucking earn the right to heal.

So- if you need a safe space and if you feel my heartbeat and if you have secrets that left burn marks under your tongue- I’ll crack my spine to make room for you too. I’ll split my jaw in two so the words that fall out feel more gracious and feed you in ways the world simply can’t.

Please know: My friends are not their text books. They are not their salaries. They are not their lovers. They are not their houses. They’re are not their endless sadness. They are not their shortcomings. They are as fragile and as beautiful and as protecting as my bones. -AMT ©️