I gave you little pieces of me
Prettily packaged
In little red ribbons.

They weren’t mine to give,
Not really anyway.
But still
I presented them to you
On a polished platter.

You took them,
Discarding of the ribbons
Without even acknowledging
The time I put into
Shaping the perfect bows.

You ripped the paper,
Shredded and discarded
On the floor of your room.

You locked up the contents,
I couldn’t get them back.
So I returned to you
With more parcels
Of me.

Hoping you’d give back
The pieces you’d taken,
If I trusted you with the rest.

You never did.
And here I stand
Broken and missing.
You’re taking someone else’s
Pretty presents now.
But I have nothing left
To give.

Maybe they weren’t mine to gift to you,
But they sure as hell weren’t yours to take.