there is a certain level of power

in the hands of the one who leaves the relationship

my hands are so small, i can’t even form a fist using them both
you expect me, somehow to change my mind
and get past all these monkeys
and come back with a secret in hand about how to get back home

there’s no answer you could use
they give personalized advice
and you gotta just go and throw a punch
and ask them if you wanna know something

the road to interplanetary space
is paved with small violence and ignored pain
the certain level of power that a leaver has
is the recognition that pain is not only unavoidable but beloved for growth–
a blow to the head and we all see stars
a second blow to the head and we bend down,

at which point we are supremely placed
to dig into the flinty soil, and begin the planting