I try to recover.
I really do.
But then you do things
like scream at me
because I wouldn't buy you a whole pizza
and I'm reminded why this all started
in the first place.

A boy saying I love you
   usually means
I want to sleep with you
and though we girls may forget our selves at times
seem careless or revealing,
    its because we do it
for those magical words to cross our hearts
even when we know they are not true
     we like to think one day they could be so

You broke your little girl.

You dropped her head
in a boiling ***
and the pressure
broke her skull.

Fished her out
and set her
in the sun to
dry and dry and dry.

Your neglectful hands
left her there to turn
the color of things
trapped between train tracks.

And now she exists.
You can hear her
but you don’t understand
what she’s screaming.

Don't talk about it.
But talktalktalktalk.
Talk to the coworker you hate,
and the cute one,
and the one that is always worried about you.
Don't let anyone know that you let your heart get ripped out
again.
Make awful small talk
because you're stronger than this.

Don't tear up
when people ask what happened.
Say "I got dumped"
with a sarcastic smile.
Don't allow yourself to feel crushed
all over again
when they look at you with pity.

Don't let anyone know
what a shock it was.
Don't tell anyone
that you wrote ***** love poems
you can never show anyone
about him the night before.

When people ask if you still love him,
don't grace it with an answer.
Don't stammer out,
"I could have."
It won't hurt any less.
Don't talk about that time
you almost told him you loved him
at two in the morning on a school night
as he traced your bare rib cage
and you ignored your phone.

Don't think about how
he did this so he "wouldn't hurt you,"
because he did
and bad.

Talk about his Oedipus complex
and how he wouldn't *******,
how you thought he was different
and you meshed so well together.

You're a whole person
and don't have another half.
(Or at least keep telling yourself that.)

Don't waste ink and computer space
writing about him again.

Should I tear myself
To pieces and glue myself
Together to look like
A piece of art the world
Would rather have seen?