Wasp

I

i am a patchwork of skin stitched loosely over bones that ache when it rains, but i don't mind.

collecting unseen things from the people i've met and giving them home in my ribs.

my chest is heavy with the weight of every secret and story and

every memory.

my knees carry the burden and buckle under the pressure, and my lungs have trouble expanding sometimes, so i begin to break off pieces of myself to lighten the load.

there isn't much left now.

i am a treasure chest filled with fragments that rattle when the wind picks up.

I don't mind.