It occurs to me now that I still bring my voice low for you,
Dance on knives for you,
Do anything to accommodate you and assure that I don’t breathe your precious air.
All of this.
Even after you have called me poison
And accused me for emoting
As if I held a gun to your head.
**** your comfort,
**** your space.
I won’t dance for you anymore.
I hope my voice brings you to tears so maybe you’ll feel something other than self-righteousness.
I hope this poem makes you want to run away so you’ll know how I feel every time I see your name.
I hope you defrost.
I hope you melt.
I hope you finally feel everything you’ve never wanted to.
…
I hope you grow from this.
I hope you finally can be warm.
I hope you regret your frostbite.
I hope you never again hurt anyone like you’ve hurt me.
…
Somewhere deep inside, in the places I keep quiet,
I hope you learn to suffer.