218. Battalion

Next month,
it will have been ten years
since I tried to kill myself.
It took me eight to begin
treating birthdays
as celebrations.

Now I wear dresses
for every occasion I can and smell
like soft marshmallows
and sparks.

There are so many things
I would not have gotten to love.
Good and bad.
I don't know if I'm any better
at this, but I can stand
near the kitchen drawers
without temptation.

That has to be something.