Spark

She hangs her failures on heartstrings as on a Christmas tree,

highlights mistakes with spotlights

calculates regret and marks it with mile markers as she speeds down the highway.

She hides heartbreak like her body's a scavenger hunt

admits nothing in words, but wears her heart inside out so it beats her skin

and blood flows by accident, or miracle, or pull of the moon, she

sweats worry from her pores,

squints her eyes and

blinks

beautifully because

failures look like aspirations when upside down,

illuminated by a string of lights,

and there's a spark in her eyes that twinkles

still.