I am busting at my seams.
There’s a tightness in my throat
As I forbid my screams:
Because who is there with whom to share?

Five years.
And there’s the nostalgia.
Five years.
And I dare to look back.

I’m wrecked.

Because I forgot
That I left behind
An apology on my unmade bed.
I left behind
An apology for my unmade bed.

I’m wrecked
And shackled to my desk.

I look for the scars from that day.
I look for the scars from that fall,
And I feel the same tension
That required that release.

This time I know a better way.

I seek an iron quill and I know.
A release and commemoration
of Five years.