The Blood & The Bones

they say you’ll be different when you find the right one
a platitude I have not learned
to take comfort from

that is not to say that I am not giving it
opportunity or hope

but if pain has named me
if it has given me features, shape, depth, edges, coloring
then who am I when it evolves, finds a new form
and settles apart from its creation?
what exactly do I answer to when it is removed?

it was just a short time ago that I knew only that word
definitively
as mine
that it was the singular and steadfast mirror to reflect upon
so now that it moves on to claim another
now that it bestows its blood upon a different stone
now that it has a heart to calcify that isn’t my own
and I am to be found on tongues as something closer to ease, to a lullaby,
maybe even happy endings
words that have never been in the books I have penned
the stories I have written
the lives I have lived
now that the mirror is broken
why would it not completely terrify me
to be so certain
that I will never really know
what to answer to
going forward from this?

the blood
& the bones