Hating you I do not do.

My own self is who my anger lies with now.

For it is of my own will that when I think of you- see you

that I do not feel whole;

it is like a piece of me is missing, just out of reach, maybe even dead.

I feel different now.

I have somehow picked up my shattered pieces and glued

them back together,

yet it feels as though they are arranged differently now..

I am uncertain if you took a part of me with you,

or if I put it in your pocket.

Or better yet there remains a possibility it roams endlessly, alone, with no set destination,

maybe even searching for the pieces of you it once knew.

I remain in the corner of my mind,

crying inside, screaming, clawing at a way out, yearning for that missing piece of me- you.