Page 163 of Under the Waves

every imperfection,

every error,

every piece of me,

that was out of place.

My thoughts calmed.

My chest settled.

That beating inside me slowed

because it knew

I was erasing myself

little by little,

until all that would exist

was my little gray bones.

Who knew,

ghosts could be

so

l

o

u

d.

55

Poppy Wells

I existed as an imperfection.

Something that would never be perfect.

You could unwind me,

break me apart,

piece by piece,

but you could never fix me,

because some things

were just meant to be

broken.