Good night to:

the screwdriver slashes in my wall,

photos on my wall of me with her,

medals hanging there I won years ago,

medals I won recently that slipped under,

the blanket my ex gave me for Christmas,

all the other blankets I still sleep with,

knee socks I wear out of spite,

the poems I wrote about him and us,

both windows I wish I could cover,

the walls I don’t have time to repaint,

two anxious cuts on my thighs,

my pink prom dress on the floor,

a college sticker that makes me cry,

a college letter I didn’t ask for,

Vaseline for (almost) everything,

the Bible I wish I bought on my own,

a silver nickel I shamelessly stole,

one bra from middle school I fit in too soon,

old diaries that sound all the same,

old yearbook photos with bad memories,

no pictures of him and only words,

my lonely phone plugged in the wall,

and the tears I cannot cry anymore.