Waking up
in the middle of the night
to a piece of glass
stuck
in my left hand;
not that I broke, but that girl-
you know the type:
the one that screams and yells
the one that says I disrespect her
as she holds my reins
and has my chains
the girl who sells me short
to whom I sacrifice so much of myself,
and who sacrifices so much of herself
and yet it isn't working,
no matter how much compromise
to me,
it doesn't seem healthy
yet she says she loves me
but when I am just me
it starts a fight
and since I refuse to fight
it only fuels the plight.

This glass draws blood-
it is all over the bed
(the glass, not the blood.. yet)
yet I would rather sleep with it
than I would with her;
for the glass is far more
welcoming
and accepting;
thus can one say
the glass doth love me for me more!