This feels like chipping out
guts instead of shedding
skin. I miss when you’d ask me why
I cry all the time, instead
you expect it. And it never stops
me, I’ve gotten too good at being good
and letting weight go, letting joints be
mechanical in their own private rite.
When I tear myself open there is some
barren land left behind, from when winter lived
inside of me like a tree after the branches get too heavy
with snow. I know they’ll die every frost.
I try planting gardens in the plateaus.
10/27/25, Angelica Crisostomo, Time Capsule
Private Rites
The Junction Journal 
This poem is a powerful meditation on emotional exhaustion, resilience, and the struggle to heal. It captures the tension between outward composure, “too good at being good,” and inner depletion, “chipping out guts instead of shedding skin.” There’s a profound sense of alienation here, both from others and from the self. The body becomes “mechanical,” performing the motions of living while the spirit remains barren. The winter – branches heavy with snow, a landscape stripped bare – mirrors this internal desolation. The act of “planting gardens in the plateaus” introduces a fragile, persistent hope: even in emotional wastelands, the speaker still attempts to nurture life. It’s an attempt at renewal in a space worn down by grief. This poem is about endurance.
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this poem really speaks out to me since all the problems and conflicts in our lives we have to deal with it ourselves and digest it to experiences for yourself and continue on like there is no ending.
The sentence that really stood out to me was “ This feels like chipping out
guts instead of shedding
skin.“ it reminds me healing yourself is hard and takes a long time. Unlike physical pain you can heal with physical stuff while you can’t with mental health.
I noticed the mood is sad and reflective and has imagery.
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