when did I trade living

for surviving?

& when did I mistake 

slowly dying

for “thriving”?

having it together

looks like a closed heart.

but oh,

the openness of being a mess.

unclench your fists, your jaw—

dance 

while cutting tomatoes.

and,

if you cry,

because you remember what it means

to be alive—

call them onions.

i won’t tell.