The Day I Opened My Mouth

Emptied by the force
of breaking a bad habit,
I’ve crumpled a bit — a slight 
deformation only,
a temporary folding
of internal time and space
by the suddenness
of the vacuum.

I can never return to
my first shape,
never again
be smooth and shiny
and ready to hold
whatever is offered
or poured into me,

but I will expand.
I will return to my 
full capacity, or at least
I will expand enough
to contain my expected
multitudes; at least, that
is my intent. If somehow

it is never met, if somehow
I remain this crushed — 
or worse, if I break open along
a seam or sharp fold and must then
be tossed aside, it will be

intent that carries me
to an end I am meant for 
if my purpose and impact
cannot.  

I will not pretend on that day
not to be disappointed,
but I will never say
I did not know it was coming,
and I will not regret the day
I opened my mouth
to pour out for good
what I’d borne for too long.