I can’t begin to tell you how messed up it is
How I’ve let you dictate how I perceive love
That I’ve convinced myself, no matter how
Pretty
Smart
Funny
Kind
I am
I will somehow always find the bad within the good
Because that’s what you were
So now
I consume myself with petty, childish crushes
On boys who don’t know I exist
Because at least this way, I won’t have to feel
I won’t have to open up my heart
There may not be bruises on my skin anymore
But they’re still there
On my soul
On my heart
On my perception of men
On my perception of myself
I cannot recover from the illness of you