these bones will tell you stories,
of how they have held me
throughout these years.
if you examine them long enough
you will notice how old the scars are.
you will see a nine-year-old
praying in the temple for her own death.
you will see a twelve-year-old
looking at a knife and her mom’s dupatta,
and thinking of ways to kill herself.
you will see a fourteen-year-old
picking up the blade to cut herself again
because it didn’t bleed enough the first time.
but don’t worry
these bones will also tell you
about all the times the nine-year-old
bruised her knee playing a game of lock-and-key.
of all the times the twelve-year-old
used the dupatta only to wear it as a saree.
of all the times the fourteen-year-old
picked herself up and decided to never touch a blade again.
these bones will tell you stories
of weakness and bravery,
of scars and beautiful memories,
and by the time
you’re done reading them,
you won’t know if the tears streaming down your face
make your heart wrench or your soul smile.