You make me feel like I don't matter.
And that.
Really.
*****.

what's the point
of all this passive, tight-lipped anger?
it doesn't arrive as a heated storm,
pounding heart, bath of red, poison-tipped tongue.
it sits calm and constant,
and rots,
rots away my chest until there are too many holes to fix.
besides, you've long since stopped trying,
or stopped looking,
whichever fits you best.
but maybe one day- if i'm lucky-
this anger will eat me away entirely.

When you break a mirror
You don't dust off your hands
and say "Well,
I'd better glue this back together."
No.

You replace it,
Because even though you've picked up every tiny shard,
Even though you've painstakingly fit together
Every last splinter,
It's still just
A broken mirror.

So I hope you know,
After all this time you've wasted,
All this glue you've slathered on,
This project only ends
With me
Bearing my own cracked reflection.

And I wonder,

Is that enough for you?

You’re the boy who tucked razor blades beneath his tongue
But pointed blame when he tasted nothing but bitter metal
You’re the boy who tied his arms around his tin chest
Because he thought he could hide the missing pieces
Of the heart beating a broken rhythm on his sleeves
And you’re the boy who knocked me down and stole my naked trust
As if I couldn't see where you had carved my name
Into the curve of your smile