Made of Yesterdays

I am not a person.

I am sediment.

Layer after layer

of unfinished afternoons,

unsent messages,

words that landed too hard.

I do not wake up new.

I wake up accumulated.

Every yesterday clings to me

like fabric that never fully dries.

People say let it go

like I’m holding balloons.

They do not see

these are stones.

I am made of the argument

that never settled,

the silence that lasted too long,

the apology that arrived

but missed its mark.

I carry old heat

into fresh mornings.

My anger remembers.

My sadness keeps proof.

Others move by calendar pages.

I move by layers.

Yesterday rests behind my ribs

like a second spine,

holding me upright

and keeping me heavy.

I am built from what did not dissolve.

But even sediment shifts.

Even stone softens

under steady water.

Somewhere beneath

all the collected weather

there is still something alive

that is not only

yesterday.

Naya. W