and maybe this is the real reason
I hold on to a bitter heart:
it is the only strength I have.

I mean,
what kind of woman am I?
that I would let a man I loved so much
who found the strings that led
to the deepest part of me
take the things that made me most alive?
but no, he didn't take them.
I gave them to him, forced them on him,
and died when he left
out of sheer need to survive.
what kind of woman am i?

the kind who holds on to a bitter heart
as if she were holding onto life.