Cut Through Old Weight

The saw bites into wood,

hard scrape like a sigh unspoken.

Splinters fly, settling like dusty ghosts

onto cracked floorboards,

forgotten as yesterday’s silence.

Chair cracks, ragged jaws of wood

splitting slow, uneven,

a quiet sound too much like the cracks

I keep between me and myself,

hard edges jagged, rough to touch.

Half gone, half left behind—

the weight fractures, folds in on itself.

Sawdust rises, settles, vanishes,

like the parts of me I never needed anyway.