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.