the hanged one | tarot poetry

hung up to drain
strung out on this
clutching at all the small pieces
coiling in on myself

i nearly break
trying to contain
all these struggling pieces
as they tug and they pull
splintering my fingers
sliding away
they slip from my grasp

I’m always grieving the death
of some parts of me
but they were never true
were never mine
to begin with

let their voices bleed away
leave me with nothing
save my truth