the book was closed
you'd finished it and picked your favorite chapter.

yet soon, you found yourself forgetting the story
so you picked up a new one.
it didn't captivate you, at first
you flicked through the pages so causally
but then you suddenly stopped

and started to pay attention
what caught your attention?

why am i a chapter and not a page?
you could've easily flicked through me
but you've stopped on my chapter
and you're reading it carefully

i hope it's your favourite chapter

what if i hurt you?
i'm past wondering if you'll hurt me, i no longer mind.

but i'm volatile
sometimes i don't know what i'm doing
sometimes i don't know what i'm thinking
and sometimes i can't act the way i want to

you say you don't mind
you say it doesn't matter and i'm still what you want

but what if it's inevitable
and we're just building this up to break?

why am i sat here writing poems?
i've never been a poet before,
but it seems that you've brought one out in me.
my fortuitous muse,
perhaps you've revealed to me the better side of my mind...

why do you look at me that way?
maybe you don't mean to. well in my head you do.
don't get me wrong, it's beautiful
sometimes i notice, but i don't look back because i want it to last longer
it makes me feel,
warm.

but why? why aren't you like the rest of them?
they never looked at me that way.
maybe i'd gotten too used to it.
they took away pieces of me so i just started handing more out until i started to break

but you're not like the rest of them.
you're not taking away more pieces of me,
are you giving me them back?
i find it scary,
what if you change your mind and you take the biggest piece of all?
maybe i'm meant to break after all.

so, why? why aren't you like the rest of them?