Mama and papi
Fighting over whose paying the mortgage.

Gotta spend less on vacations,
Outings,
Birthdays,
Treats,
Heat,
Groceries.

Guilt
Gu­ilt
Guilt.

Mama and papi
Fighting over how they're splitting bills.

Saying he pays too much,
Saying that he can handle it.
Saying she gets anxious,
Saying how he's in pain.

Guilt
Guilt
Guilt.

Why do thwy do this anyway?
Asking, asking,
Why they'd sacrifice so much?

For you.
Yeah, for you.
You ungrateful waste of space, time, money.

Guilt
Guilt
Guilt.

My love,

I missed you,
The way you held me and caressed.
Distracted me from all else
and kept me safe from my fears.

You traced my body like I was a sculptor
That you just had to make perfect.
I wanted so badly to be perfect.

I didn't mind fitting in the cusp of your hand, edge of your blade.
But they say you chipped away at me, make me smaller.

Isn't that what sculptors do?

...

They took you away from me, my love, I'm sorry.

But as I let go,
I was able to rebuild what you broke.

It was never you who broke me though, was it?
It was me, really, allowing you to do so.
And just as I am enabled destruction, I am able to recover.

My scars heal,
But still they remind me of you.
I miss you, so much so that sometimes I go back,
But I now know that I am more than your rigid sculpture,

I am the ever-changing product of my own acts of creation.

Please, if you're going to say you love me,

Say that you love me the way you love the sunrises on school mornings,
City nights where the stars are shining bright enough to touch,
Plants flooding fire escapes,
Stained glass windows nonexclusive to churches,
Sweet watermelon on a salty beach,
The beady-eyed plush dinosaur I carry by my side,
and the waxing-gibbous.

Oh, please love me the same as the waxing gibbous.