i woke up thinking of you just now
and how you snaked your arms
around my waist and breathed
your hot lies onto the skin of my ear
just so that you could remind me that
you were there.

ironically your pseudoscience;
you know,
where you presented your false
admiration and adoration and affection towards
me, led me to believe you
actually cared.

you could not go two weeks without speaking to
her. but what is wrong with me?
all the words escaping your lips
of her inadequacy and my perfection.
were they lies— or just false truths?
to me and you. these are not the same.

i hope one day you can walk through
a hall of mirrors and not feel empty anymore.
i stole your reflection once you refused
to see it in my eyes. my tears have flown miles.
i would have sailed miles for you.

you… you
knew all of my entrails in the
****** and beautiful ways.
you filled my heart with the innocence of love
and ripped my soul out with betrayal. god
i feel so sorry for you.

i pity you for losing me. i am the
purest of flowers in the crystal palace, and
whether i be a daisy or a tulip,
although your calloused hands may have plucked
me, i have put my own vase on a pedestal and
no, you may not damage my petals.


of course, along with a grain of salt, i
remind myself of all the things you have taught me:
i am best when i create my own happiness.
you cannot build your own facade and expect others to
follow your cues. and
i will never let go the fact that you hurt me.

from you, to my ******, to the boy who i thought loved me then
threw me down the stairs because i thought i was pregnant,
each of you have pinned me down like some strange form
of taxidermy. the prowess being stripping —
clipping me of my wings and framed amongst the rest of your empty cadavers.

i hope you will never forget the night
we sat in your car in silence. you raised your
hand to caress my cheek and i flinched. i was so used to being
hit instead of held. you promised me,
on your grandmother’s grave, that you would never hurt me.

i would have preferred a black eye over snapped heartstrings. i will never know how long you planned on leading me on.
most likely nine months, as it is difficult to conceal not only an affair,
but a baby as well. how mesmerizing is it that you have the
ability to provide such an innocence to the world?

it will be sad to see you raise a child,
as we had talked about our desire for them. and
to know that i never made a lasting impression on you.
i was always a doormat, never the door. you never
opened me up and saw me for what we could have
been.

through the door, a wilted flower sits. just beyond
there is you and i.
we refuse to look at eachother.
i hope. i
hope you hate the taste of Dr. Pepper,
and you can never get my perfume out
of your bedsheets.