I did not require fixing
Asking only that you do no damage
Here in the rot and rust
I plant my own gardens
And decorate my own soul
Making it my own
Making it my home

You are cigarette butts,
Empty bottles,
And nights spent hunched over the sink.

You are journals bursting at the seams,
Bad poetry,
And long playlists.

You are fingernails bitten down until they bleed,
Smeared eyeliner,
And trauma I never came to understand

You are regrets buried in the closet,
Broken glass,
And I hope you find your peace.

A poem of thankfulness
That you are gone
And have stayed gone

When you like someone for what they represent perhaps they’re better left as an idea.

Some people destroy the things they touch
Just to prove they can break

Art is our savior
Revealing which lessons lie
Where pain resides
Turning salt to sugar.