these hands are too small, too paper thin again
they are almost translucent, and it's a nuisance
to hang this noose around my neck-
seems the seams of this design
I have designated to myself
have withered away amongst men
who have too much malice,
they do not belong inside of my head
get me out of here, get them out of here.

It is dead-
the fuel inside of me that flickers
and burns for your embrace.
it is dead once more.
Twice more I found you-
exposing your true colors
seems three is too many chances to be given
so why is there a fourth?

Why are these paper thin hands
inclined to crumbled amongst love
and disintegrate at the mere loss of it.
I'm having trouble understanding
what it means to feel love.
It is etched inside of closet doors
and dark corners.
Painted out in broken glass
upon my kitchen floor
and masked by male privilege.

I wish I wouldn't have-
became who I am for you.
I wish I wouldn't have gone through so much
maybe then we could live in naivety together
maybe then the lines between us
wouldn't be so etched inside black
turned inside out by your lack of trauma
or my extensive experience with it.

I'm beginning to think
I am more of your problem
than solution
and maybe that is why your mind
traveled elsewhere.
Made it's way into another's home
but still somehow invaded my resting place.
I don't want to share your substance-
but I still feel in competition.

Drowning under the pressure
that you put upon my shoulders
I'm trying to be who you want me to be.
But it will never be enough for you
I'm slowly losing my sanity.
The building blocks
that make me who I am
are lost now
you hid them all behind resentment-
you can find the real me there.
Too bad you'll never go looking,
too bad I don't have to strength to either.