Be crumbled, they said. It’s okay to admit you don’t have always copper hands,
[my father had copper hands and I guess mine were trying to match]
These people they’ll look for you, they said. These people they’ll find the voice you’re trying to hide, If you let them close enough to hear it.
The water flows in front of me like blood rushing up my veins, my body is moving, still, quiet, but the parts of me beneath my skin have forgotten how to swim. The wind wrapped her hands around my hair, she’s tugging on my collarbones like baby teeth; I have forgotten far too long ago what it felt like to be a child.
My fathers words sit in me like the house he build but never finished. The sounds of him leaving burned into the backs of my eardrums, a tune I can never scrape out of my memory, a tune that makes its way into every sound I hear. His footsteps, have voices, and they are all begging him to come back home.
They told me to let him go, no strings attached, they said,
but his strings are wrapped around my neck and I, do not know where to begin to cut loose.

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