I have spent too long
mending people who come to me
teary eyed
and raw knees.
They extend me bloody palms with
half moon slivers of iron embedded in the flesh.
Around their wrists are heavy salt soaked sleeves,
eyes bloodshot
and nose running.

My mother raised me
to care and to love
without hesitation,
and as much as I thank her for my heart,
I curse this heart
for collapsing with every tear
and for leaping at every "please".

I wore this heart out
until its rhythm was droned whole notes,
sluggish and heavy,
and ever so slightly off tempo.
My skin drained of color
and veins drained of blood
as I watched corpse upon corpse's cheeks
grow ruddy once more
only for them to walk off smiling.

I never wanted a thanks.
Nor did I get them.
And that was fine,
until I could feel my own body
begging for the life
that kept it running,
crying out
for the same tender care
I gave so selflessly.

I am done with burning myself out.
And I have grown selfish.
But I cannot help others
if I'm a full bodied apparition,
translucent
and weightless.
This is my time
to nourish my thoughts
and to stoke the flames of life once more.

I am putting myself first
after years of putting myself last.
I am me
and I am my prioritity.