So much of me is him.
I tell people that endlessly,
Until the words lose meaning,
Until I lose myself.
So much of me is her.
I tell that to anyone who will listen
To my sad, sad story.
But when does that end?
When do I stop being with someone
Without morphing into them?
Without giving them the freedom
To dig up what is there, and to replant
The garden that I have grown for twenty years?
Before I met you, I was me. I walked, and I talked,
And I thought. I thought, and I felt, and I loved.
I loved before you. And now I hurt. I hurt beyond
The usual sting of disappointment because
So much of me is you.
I see you in me daily, like a drop of red wine
In a glass of crystal water. Spiraling, spinning,
Twisting until it contaminates the whole thing.
You color my habits, my actions,
My words, my thoughts, my emotions.
I tug at the thread, and it unravels into you.
You think you’ve cut the tie?
You will never severe this bond
Which I labored so hard to build up.
I am not a loose string to pluck, and
You were never that for me.
I cannot shake you; I cannot free myself.
How could you wind around me so tightly,
Cut into my bones and leave your mark
Like the aftermath of some beast’s jaws?
I cannot separate me from you. This is
What you’ve done to me. This is
Whom you’ve made me.
This is me.