I’ve never been a home, only a hotel.
I have graffiti lining the walls of my own heart;
the warnings portrayed by those who have
stayed there before those ahead. Every last
piece of furniture inside has been upturned in
a desperate attempt to find where my own
pride is stationed. This room is a ****** scene,
you know. My collarbones have reached up
and sliced through the jugular of those I’ve kissed.
I’ve dug my fingernails into the stone spines of
those who never deserved to be engraved with
my false passion. I’ve injected heartbreak into the
arms of those I was fully aware would become
addicted.
And yet, I have the nerve to place flowers upon
the graves I dig for those I promised life. I have
the audacity to expect to be treated like a queen
when all I have known is the reign as a dictator.
I apologize to those I’ve given roses and left
thorns on the stems. I apologize for the promises,
and lack of following through. I’ve for too long
pressed my burdens to those who carry their
own. I never meant to become one myself.
And honestly, I apologize for what you’re about
to leap into.