fog

i am a weak type of woman,
easily broken like brittle glass
by hard things.
sticks and stones.
words and phrases.
my brain is a sick one;
it tells me lies that i believe are truths
because i’m really just telling them to myself
in my voice
and if i can’t trust my own voice,
what can i? what am i?
i can trust the hardness of stones,
life,
the piercing pain of shattering
glass
resolve