Hating you I do not do.
My own self is who my anger lies with now.
For it is of my own will that when I think of you- see you
that I do not feel whole;
it is like a piece of me is missing, just out of reach, maybe even dead.
I feel different now.
I have somehow picked up my shattered pieces and glued
them back together,
yet it feels as though they are arranged differently now..
I am uncertain if you took a part of me with you,
or if I put it in your pocket.
Or better yet there remains a possibility it roams endlessly, alone, with no set destination,
maybe even searching for the pieces of you it once knew.
I remain in the corner of my mind,
crying inside, screaming, clawing at a way out, yearning for that missing piece of me- you.