I don’t want to write about you anymore
I don’t want to see your face - or hers
Because there’s a deep, dark hole in me,
carved out by the things you did - and didn’t
A chasm; a hall of caves; a graveyard
I don’t want to tell them
I don’t want my scars to define me
I don’t want to be an urn, holding the ashes of my past lovers,
but I am afraid those embers will never die
I don’t want to tell myself that I am worthy of love
I want to wake up and see it in someone's eyes
I want my chasms and caves and graveyards to echo in triumph
But my shadows’ shadows know that I have not yet fully healed