I ripped up my portfolio in a fit of self-disgust
I did it, I had to, its pages made me sick
It was a reckless, desperate deed
There were blood stains on the spine
And though I fainted when the stitching split, at last I was unbound
My skin was left in ribbons with paper cuts from the past
I found staples slowly rusting in my heart and in my lungs
When I discovered the dust of that life beneath my nails I made a firm commitment to clip them keen and short
Disconcerted friends pledged to send me tape and glue, an alibi to hide behind, or some good, heart-warming food
But the old me was mere confetti now and I fed fistfuls to the wind
I watched it fly then went inside
Set to begin again
Second Draft
