Poetry:
For me it used to be the release of all the things I was holding inside, but now I see it was really just a way for me to hide.
Hide from you, or him, or maybe even myself: put some words on some pages to silence the growing cries for help
I saw that you were beautiful, and I held on.
Maybe I tried to push you away, maybe I knew you wouldn’t stay,
Maybe it was me creating my own self destruction or maybe it was the way you craved my construction
My construction of you from the pieces I found, the pieces I found that had been laying on the ground

But maybe you were just beyond fixing and maybe I should have never picked up tools in the first place.