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Oct 2018 · 39
Skyline Eyes
MaKenna Oct 2018
I was waiting for that burn but it never started a fire.
December’s hands are tangled in my hair, tugging on my roots. Reminding me that she’s still eminent in my skin cells.
I want to rip open your chest and massage your heart with my calloused hands till it starts pumping blood again.
The temperature is dropping inside you at alarming rates.
You mimic winters piercing cold.
But darling it’s only autumn, let’s watch skeletal trees lose their leaves.
Let’s watch the sun set into evening.
Let’s perform an autopsy on pumpkins as if taking its insides out could make up for the blackened scar tissue growing around our bones.
The universe in you yearns for the galaxy in me.
Our stomachs are full of all the words we’re too afraid to tell each other.
I’ve pretended to go mad in order to tell you things, because in the midst of the chaos I can show a shred of honesty.
I promise I’m getting better.
My mouth tastes like a graveyard but yours tastes like sunshine.
Your skyline eyes outshine mine.
When people ask how you became a wreck you never tell them I was driving.
Gas petal floored and burnt out headlights, flying down a darkened , dead-end street.
I promised you if you stepped foot in my chest again, it would not crumble.
But the foundation is damaged and there’s cracks and crevices where your love seeps in.
I’ve spent the last few months wondering if I was the one who dragged you into the water or if I was the coast guard who saved you from the tides.
There are no words for the way the blood seeps out onto the cold tile floor, or for the way the room seems to suffocate itself when we’re in it.
I promised myself I wouldn’t turn you into a poem.
You’ve relinquished your hold when I needed it most but you always end up caving and I always end up breaking.
And here we sit.
And here my bones are brittle so you caress me softly and ever so sweetly.
And you remind me it’s okay to be scared of the tides but to step foot in the shore because the water will wash away our sins.
So blessed be.
Here’s to you and me.
I love you.
For Matthew, with all my love
MaKenna Sep 2018
Go choke on your delusional idea of love. No does not mean “change my mind” No does not mean liquor me up, get me good and drunk till I can no longer verbally reject you. My slurs of terror and anguish as I try to shove you off of me. Did it make you feel good? Did you feel like a real man- To take what was mine. Did it boost your ego? You had no right to sneak into my bedroom and steal my girlhood. I was 13. Chaos seeped into what was a serene life. The torturous and endless cycle continued for 3 ******* years. What man is so weak? So weak that he has to take what he feels he’s entitled to, from a little girl. I can never get back what you stole from me. They couldn’t find any evidence to prove the assault even happened, but the trauma can never be erased from my mind. The skin replaces itself every 7 to 15 years, so scientifically speaking your hand prints are still eminent on my skin. This flesh and bone is no longer mine. That home I took my first steps in, was no longer mine from the moment you creeped in. But you do not own me. I can still recall the first time I frantically searched for a sharp object in all the clutter, just trying to make myself distasteful to you. But you ignored the blood dripping from my thighs, dismissed the warning signs as if you were colorblind. Nothing could stop your calloused hands and feeble mind. Years later, your pressure still stands heavy on my heart. I labeled myself as damaged goods. But I am a ******* work of art. And I can’t undo what you did but I can use my voice to speak on the pain you’ve caused me. To raise awareness for those still suffering. You did not stunt my growth because I am in full bloom. I will not let you define a single part of me. I will grow as you regress. As you destruct everything you come in contact with. I will touch people and I will make jaws drop. I will be someone. Just watch me.
MaKenna Sep 2018
When I was little I used to be scared of everything.
I swore there were bloodstains on the coffee table.
One night my grandma saw me fist fighting in my sleep.
You can’t forget the traumatic things.
It haunts me in my dreams.
My mother did the best she could.
I don’t blame her. **** happens and you roll with the punches.
My father never said he loved me enough.
I used to sit by the front door waiting for his headlights but once again, another no show.
He loved the liquor more than me.
I don’t blame him.
Because now I do too.
I wish I could fill the white spaces with something wholesome, something sweet.
But by now the pain has become another layer of my being.
I’m formed with bad habits tied into my heartstrings.
Like the bittersweet taste smeared across my gums and in between my teeth.
And I can’t help but look in the mirror and ask myself, “who were you before the world made you cold?”
My mother says I was the empathetic one.
As long as I can remember I’ve been living life on the run.
Hiding from myself, stuffing, suppressing all emotions.
I used to know what it was like to drown but now I steer clear of the oceans.
I used to tell myself that I swallowed that water instead of drowning but my lungs just grew accustomed to breathing underwater.
I lost my virginity when I was thirteen to a man who was much more stronger than me.
He would press my face into the sheets, making it seemingly impossible to breathe.
He’s the reason why I started drinking.
I’d love to feel that burning sensation crawling down my throat into the pit of my stomach.
It hurt less than the nights he’d creep into my bedroom.
I used to sleep in the closet.
It took years of therapy to break that habit.
I won’t ever let the fear of him seep into my bone marrow again.
It’s like the word UNLOVABLE is tattooed on my inner thigh.
I wish people came with warning labels.
I wish my mother could see the signs before he laced his body with mine.
But I don’t resent her for it.
It’s not her fault.
And if you ever ask me if I regret anything I’ll say no.
Because all of this molded me into the person I am today.
Some days it’s hard to keep the bad thoughts at bay.
They swim in my waters making the currents hard to stand against.
But when the world is falling apart around me I refuse to crumble.
Because I am strong.
And I still choose to believe that most people are good.
I refuse to be cynical.
I refuse to let the bitterness hide in my small intestine.
I won’t let the enemy win by making me cold again.
I am warm sunshine, I am the feeling of sand between toes, I am celestial.
And I will associate myself with the word strong. I will take that to my grave.
Because I refuse to be defined by anything less than brave.
Jun 2018 · 119
MaKenna Jun 2018
Crush my lungs and steal my breath, you’re only the blood pulsing through my veins. There are no words for the way the blood seeps out onto the cold tile floor.
I guess maybe it was all a game to you, a deck of cards. You sat there with your poker face on, still intact no matter the cards I played. I raise and you call. **** it, I guess I was never good a placing bets.
Your name is branded on my lips. I try to purge myself of your existence but you still remain. Caught up in my tendons, heart strings and all.
You can’t see my broken heart and river run tears forming fountains of seas between you and me. But each time you tell me to leave, a piece of me dies and withers away. Eventually there will be nothing left so I’m begging you to choose your words wisely because your tongue is a sword ripping through my spinal cord, Breaking my stance. Baby won’t you be my crutch?
My lungs are tar black and my heart is crimson red. I’ve lived my life in violent indigos, but you were my first taste of a yellow hue.
Loving you feels like driving fast, exceeding the speed limit, gas pedal floored, unlocked doors, passenger airbag off, busted headlights and no seatbelts. It’s an adrenaline rush. I can feel my heart racing by the grace of your touch.
You remind me it’s okay to slow down.
But the pain knows no borders.
It’s all adrenaline,
All chemicals and no impulse control.
I wish there was a way to
You knew just what to do to make me beg for you.
You and all your callous words, taking shots at my bruised soul.
It’s much worse than broken bones and a ****** lip.
I crawled into the chambers of your chest, built up a wall and barricaded myself in.
There were always two sides to you.
One was scarlet red and the other a deep, dark blue.
I could never cut cut the cord between the two.
I convinced myself I was just seeing double.
My heart's been broken for a love that lingered on and off for 7 months but never seemed to survive a week.
And even though we collided like atoms in Einstein’s dreams,
It doesn’t excuse the way you tore my heart strings.
I no longer know you from the distance of an arm's length.
Because the past 4 days have been spent burning bridges and building walls.
You were the first one to shimmy your way into my chambers, muscle and veins.
You said you liked the view from brown eyes and how they look like honey when the sun hits just right.
But I was always falling into your ocean eyes.
I lost myself in the tides.
I became background noise.
I couldn’t think of me without thinking of you too.
But you always said I didn’t think enough.
Loving you always felt like a privilege but you made it feel like a chore.
And I could never fight the constant urge to scream.
Jun 2018 · 133
3rd degree burns
MaKenna Jun 2018
I watch the fire in your fingertips singe my skin and I pray you don’t smash the illusion I’ve made- that flesh looks more beautiful when melting by your touch.
You’re embedded in the chambers of my heart, you’re sinking into my veins- replacing the blood in my body. You are the marrow in my bones.
You’re always calm and collected, I am a ball of rage and anxiety bursting apart at the seams. You can try to sew me up but I will fall apart.
                                                 I will fall apart.
Your eyes, a piercing blue. A certain hue when the sunlight hits just right. And I drown in those ocean eyes. Swept away by the tides. Drowning in your waters, I feel fine.
MaKenna May 2018
I’ve ran out of beautiful ways to say I love you.

Rumor has it every poem I write is about you and how I get swept away in the velocity of the ever-changing emotions you throw at me.

You’re always in two places at once but I swear last night I held all of you in my arms and I swear to God the whole time I was thinking that this is the part of the magic trick where you disappear again.

You’re always fine. And I’m always sorry. Baby, excuse me if I cut you with my tongue, I’m always drunk off fermented words these days.

He said I have to stop living a lie and I told him I’ll try but I’ve been dishonest since before my time and I’m not sure if I can give up the fight.  

You always try to cover your tracks when you lay out your feelings. Like a corpse you want to be rid of. You can wash your hands of the blood, but you can never wash them of the crime. Darling it’s ok to be vulnerable at times.

Everything was once subliminal messaging and warning signs, now you don’t have to read between the lines.

See, I’ve lived my life on the run but for once I wanted to be caught. So I slowed my pace and you won the race. The battle is over. Our mangled hearts can slow and begin another tempo in perfect harmony.

Baby this is it, you’re the masterpiece and I’m just an art thief.
May 2018 · 108
Complete Abandon
MaKenna May 2018
I can remember the words “Don’t leave me” spewing from my mouth as you grabbed your wallet. As I heard the jingle of your keys.
I was never the girl who asked someone to stay. Not till you.
I was always pushing and shoving people out the door. Slamming it shut on their fingers, hearing the crunch of their knuckles as I locked the deadbolt.
My forte was leaving people behind.
Living on the run.
Loving for fun.
My mother left my father because he drank too much. She said she loved him but she could still feel the ache in her tummy as he pushed the couch to it when the two pink, parallel lines showed up on that stick. And there I rest, in that same tummy. My fingernails barley formed. My heartbeat slow. Not a hair on my head.
The strongest thing she could do for us was lock the deadbolt behind him. When he took the money, and the car, and that case of beer that tore them apart.
See I’m not strong enough to lock the deadbolt behind you. I will always leave the lights on, the welcome mat outside my chest will always hide the key to my heart. You know just where to find it.
I can’t leave you behind.
Because you’re my first taste of love.
So bitter, so sweet.
You bring out my greatest adversaries.
Everything I hate about me.
The things I try so hard to push to my subconscious.
You lay them all out.
I was always prone to flight in times of strife.
But with you I want to fight.
And I will fight till my knuckles are ****** and my knees are bruised.
I’ll fight for you till I’m black and blue. And I will keep fighting.
You are every hope,every promise and every reason to keep going.
I will sail your uncharted waters and even when the tide is high, and the waves are pulling me under. I will swallow that water instead of drowning.
For Matthew
May 2018 · 86
ocean eyes
MaKenna May 2018
I bite my lip when I miss you
I apologize if my kisses taste like blood.
Lately my tongues been tasting like asphalt and copper.
My cheeks are soaked by acid tears.
I’ve lived my life in violent indigos.
You’re my first taste of yellow.
The static isn’t so loud now.
You touch me like I’m made of glass
I know I’ll never break by your touch.
Those calloused hands,
so smooth yet so rough.
Those eyes, so empty and lost.
I could drown in that shade of blue when the sun hits just right.
We’re driving home and taillights paint red on your face, you grab my hand, and the corners of your mouth rise.
The moonlight kisses you.
And I’m so-
So envious.
Bringing you to me was the kindest thing the winter could ever do.
And I loved you through the piercing cold.
And I love you now.
God, I love you now.
For Matthew, with love.
May 2018 · 469
BPD awareness
MaKenna May 2018
Sometimes I wonder if my suicide attempt actually worked and this is just **** i'm living in now.
Like I’m just another part of the statistic.
Research has shown that around 70 percent of people with BPD will have at least one suicide attempt in their lifetime, and many will make multiple suicide attempts, and people with BPD are more likely to complete suicide.
Sometimes I stand and everything goes black, and the static in my head gets louder and louder.
Sometimes I cry, sobbing between heaving- but not often because it’s hard for me to display emotions normally.
We’re supposed to be constantly feeling things at an intensified level than neurotypicals.
Sometimes I get distant. I disassociate from myself and exist somewhere in between reality and the void.
It’s hard for me to say sorry to those I hurt in the process of me hurting myself.
I can’t sit still.
My mind’s moving 100 mph and it’s almost impossible to slow it down.
Countless flashbacks play in the back of my mind on a reel. Like a horror flick I can’t get out of.
Like I’m in a nightmare and everything in me is saying run but my legs won’t move.
When you have BPD you can’t really control your emotions.
It’s an emotional switch that flips. Like the breaker box is shot and all the wires are frayed.
I wear his T-shirt’s when he’s gone to remind me that he still exists. His smell on the pillowcase is the only reminder that he was even here, that it was real.
When you have BPD nothing seems real. You often question if you really do exist.
A friend asked me why I write everything down and turn it into a poem. The only way I can assure myself it really happened is to let it live on through my art.
Everyday I wake up and ask myself if I can just be normal today. Be a normal sister, a normal girlfriend, a normal human being. I always set my expectations far too high.
It may not mean much to him but his slightly different demeanor has me in a state of panic fueled by my overwhelming fear of rejection and abandonment.
I live with this everyday and some days it’s harder to push all the fears to my subconscious.
It’s like I’m falling rapidly down a mountainside and the sudden occurrence of fear in overwhelming quantities is crushing my chest. Clogging my windpipe, making it seemingly impossible to breathe.
Living with BPD is the equivalent of constantly being at war with yourself. You don’t get quiet moments.
But I sustain myself on the idea that everything will be okay.
Everything’s okay.
I’m okay.  
And people ask me why I can’t just shut it off, as if it is that easy.
I’m doing everything I can to stop the voices in my head from screaming over his whisper in my ear.
I find comfort in the fact that he loves me despite the chaos. I sustain myself on the fact that he loves me. That’s all the justification needed.
I know he’s probably sick of always putting me back together, but his touch makes all the sharp edges fit perfectly together.
I have no impulse control.
But I am slowly accepting my disease, and I remember to not let it define me.
I’m learning to cope, and I have to remember to be kind to myself.
If you’re struggling with mental illness, please remember to be kind to yourself.
If some days you need to stay in bed, that’s okay.
If some days you forget to take your medication, that’s okay.
If some days you act on your impulses, that is okay.
Don’t hide yourself from the world because you are different.
You are radiant, you are celestial, you are loved.
Always remember you matter.
May is BPD awareness month and my only goal is to speak to other through my story.
If you or someone you know is struggling with BPD, educate yourself on the symptoms and traits.
Let’s raise awareness for Borderline Personality Disorder
Apr 2018 · 82
MaKenna Apr 2018
I long for the ghost of December, to be touched by Winter’s piercing cold.

I long to be spread across your sheets like continents.

I long to be close to you.

I want to seep into the cracks of your heart.

I want to build a home out of your ribcage.

I want to find refuge in your collarbones.

I want to love you.
for matthew
Mar 2018 · 208
Pure Devotion
MaKenna Mar 2018
For every tear I cry over you,
A piece of my heart falls too.
I long to be close to you,
To absorb all the salt in your veins.
You have every fiber of my being.
My atoms are yours.
I fell for you in winters piercing cold,
But I still love you in the spring.
My mind is an instrument that can only play your name,
every single chord.
To be adored by you,
Is a dream.
No amount of heroine could make me feel the way you do.
It’s immense euphoria with a constant head high.
When you tell me to leave,
You break the heart on my sleeve.
I was incapable of loving before I met you.
I was caught in a perpetual cycle, filled with sharp highs and deep lows.
Constantly trying to fill the void in my vacant chest.
But you touch me and breath life into my tar black lungs, you remind me there’s a heartbeat.
And being with you is my favorite thing to do
It’s only you.
I promise, it’s only you.
Mar 2018 · 650
Prolonged Suffering
MaKenna Mar 2018
There was a girl with jet black hair who introduced me to pain and called it ‘a good time’
Her smile looked like the light at the end of the tunnel, right before the train hits you.
I found myself touching things she used to touch, looking for echoes in her fingertips.
It only led me to shattered glass and abandoned halls.
I’d shout her name watching her absence sink into the corners of the wall.
Growing up the doors started slamming themselves to save my sister the trouble.
I started sweeping my heartache under the living room rug because she complained about the mess.
When I moved out, I should’ve let that pain in my closet on the second shelf. Instead I tucked it inside my chest, and tried to breathe around hurt.
My innocence was lost and there was no map that told me where to get it back.
I tried to elude anyone who could see past the painted on smile.
I wore a mask for so long that it became another layer of skin.
I disguised every tear as allergies and every cut a cat scratch.
My sense was persuaded by whoever’s aroma smelled most like security.
My discomfort was overlooked but still lingered in my subconscious.
I keep tracing my shadow but by now my silhouette is a statue.
And I wish I hadn’t flinched every time someone raised a hand, or wince every time I was touched.
I wish the night terrors didn’t push me to sleeping in the closet.
But it was all apart of the healing process.
I have an empty space where my wishbone should be.
There’s an emptiness in my chest but I learned to fill the spaces with more love and kindness.
My story remains etched in my heart with a copyright mark because nobody can take it away from me.
I’ve spent my whole life living in a cage, but now I’m finally free.
My journey’s ongoing, and the deep undercurrents of pain and grief are pulling me through the in between.
Now it’s been two years and the trauma I’ve held tight to has loosened like a tight balloon, it’s draped across my ribcage.
I press on the emotional bruises and the pain is dull and withering.
I came out kicking and screaming but I made it out alive.
Try to think of the healing that comes out of pain.
Mar 2018 · 161
Lust for Life
MaKenna Mar 2018
He tastes like tobacco and cherries
His touch seeps into my thoracic cavity
His lips pressed against my back,
His hands tucked between my thighs
He sends shivers down my spine.
My mouth moving slowly,
from his clavicles to his chest.
Jazz music plays softly.
I am his resting place for pleasure,
Hidden in the basement of his desires.
And I crave his touch,
And I crave his kiss.
And I want him with every fiber of my being.
Again and again.
Mar 2018 · 74
MaKenna Mar 2018
I've found myself furthering my distance from you, because in all reality I’m more immune to your absence. We’ve spent more time apart than we ever did together. And we shared no last words of goodbye, it was all false hope intertwined with the psychological pull in each other’s head.
And I’ve finally realized that what we had was never love, just chemicals between us.
It was all ecstasy with an inevitable comedown that shattered the heart. But the spoonful of adrenaline we injected in each other’s veins was enough to put the pieces back together, as if they would ever fit the same. I found myself cutting my knees on all the broken pieces, while begging for your forgiveness. We were filled with sickness.
I memorized the atlas in your body, I traced the roadmaps hidden in your skin. I became the nerve endings moving along the wires in my body. And you were the drug pulsating through my bloodstream. What we had was euphoria, an incredible high filled with deep lows.
We kept returning to each other’s arms like waves. As if the currents could take the pain away.
I put you on a pedestal. I told myself you were God, and bathed in your tears like they were holy water. As if you could save me from the disease that centers in my mind. I thought you were the girl who shined my stars and lined my sky. I refused to see past the image I made you out to be.
You put a bookmark in my heart, expecting to find me where you left me.
The chapter ended much sooner than I wanted. I’m stuck with an ambiguous cliffhanger with no correct punctuation. I made you the main character in my story and that is where I went wrong. I became background noise in my own life. You were the puppeteer, pulling my heartstrings, assuring me the show must go on. Because the audience always applauds at the sight of our clasped hands. I started to wonder who we were keeping ourselves together for.
Our demise was abrupt. It didn’t happen slowly over time. We got absorbed in white powdered lines, and ‘having a good time’ off of nicotine and wine. The ***** on your breath was enough to make me dizzy. We put the chemicals in our bodies and there was a psychological change in the magnetic force field that held us together. My heart no longer did somersaults, I could no longer feel it thrusting against the walls of my chest. Your touch felt frigid and calloused. There was no longer a twinkle in your eyes, just dilated pupils and acid tears.
I’m stuck with a fist full of memories and an irreversible past. I no longer wish I could go back and change everything. Like the way my screams echoed in your head like the ocean roar in your ears. The way I sank my claws into your flesh, and clipped your wings so you could not leave the nest.
I’ve accepted that I was a sick person who did sick things, and you are not a victim in the scheme of things. I can acknowledge both our faults, align them just right and take my hands off the steering wheel, because losing you is like an inevitable car crash. And here we are sitting in the front seats, arguing on why neither of us bothered to repair the engine. I tried to warn you that the brake lights were blown out, but it was all shattered glass and no seatbelts.
But here I am. Sitting in the bed we made love in; asking myself why I kept assuring myself that I was hurting so deeply, because we were loving so deeply. We both ignore each other’s warning signs. Dismissing red flags as if we were colorblind.
I never believed it was possible to fall out of love till I met you. I may always love you, but now I just don’t like you. I no longer dig into the cavities of my chest to find you deep within my tendons. We’ve grown into different people and I don’t like the traits you adopted to your new persona. I know you’ll never be yourself, just a form of someone else.
So this is me accepting the reality that I’ve been using our lack of closure, as a crutch to keep me from moving on.
I know the sinking feeling in my chest will decrease when I accept that our love was a bad recipe that called for white lies and white lines. The push and pull and lost track of time. The facade we built up in our minds. I can accept I’ll never get to hear the words goodbye.
But I can finally place my heart back in my chest. It’s a different kind of pain to realize I don’t miss you anymore.
I never believed in falling out of love till I saw your face under green lights in the corner of a cafe. I didn’t have to cover you up, I had to dig deep into the layers of blackened scar tissue and remove you from the marrow of my bones. You are now permanently out of reach from me. We’re measured in the Sun's distance from the equator. In all the games we played, I told myself I didn’t mind the occasional head trip. All things set aside I’m moving on, that’s the bottom line. And I feel happier. And I feel free. I had to patch the hole the size of your fist lingering in my chest. And all of this had to leave a gaping wound, so I could begin the healing process.
Mar 2018 · 99
Scene From a Playground
MaKenna Mar 2018
We’re fighting again and I don’t know if I’m shaking because it’s cold outside or if it’s because of this chill you left in my bones when I watched your taillights fade.
You’re always leaving me behind.
I don’t know what I can do to change your mind.
All these voices in my head make it hard to speak.
I cannot formulate into words how much you mean to me.
It’s always overcast in my mind, dark gray and pouring rain.
I’m sorry I couldn’t find the words say.
I’m breaking down into fragments,
I begin to wonder if the pain will ever subside.
This isn’t supposed to be a beautiful poem about missing you, this is me trying to speak to you through the metaphors dripping from my tongue.
This is my way of telling you that your absence is a stinging pain seeping into my bone marrow.
Every night I have dreams where you leave me.
But I wake in a cold sweat with tears in my eyes, and always find you across the bed sheets.  
I want you to know that every time you leave, you’re the only one I want to run to.
It’s always going to be you.
My love for you is deeper than all the love you’ve ever received all combined together.
I had never opened myself up completely to someone, not till I met you.
I’ve never allowed myself to be so vulnerable and bare for someone, but I want you to reach all the cracks and crevices in my heart.
Everytime we fight I wonder if this time is the last time, like you’re going to give up on us and let it all go.
But maybe if you knew how much I loved you, the worries that sink deep in the left side of your brain wouldn't force feed you till you ***** all the rage and anxiety.
The emotional bruises stop aching when your fingertips meet them.
When I sink into your entrails, everything’s okay. And I feel safe with you again.
This is a poem about how I feel like I’m not good enough for you, like there’s something greater out there dying for your touch.
Sometimes you turn into a different person, your eyes go cold. But I love every face you have show.
And I sustain myself on the idea that you’re irrevocably in love with me despite all the bad things that keep us fighting.
You’re not the light at the end of the tunnel, you’re the one pulling me off the tracks.
Mar 2018 · 113
MaKenna Mar 2018
I stand still as you seep into the marrow of my bones,
and I watch as osteogenesis takes place.
You inflict emotional bruises,
And I push my fingers down on the purple and yellow you-shaped bruise on my heart.
As you put holes in the walls of my chest,
I feel the drywall settle in the pit of my stomach.
I should’ve acknowledged the warning signs,
the way you adopted jealousy and rage.
I dismissed the red flags,
as if I was colorblind.
I paid homage to your body,
underneath the sheets.
I was your ***** little secret,
hidden under lock and key.
I fell to the floor in tears,
Assuring myself that if I’m hurting this deeply, I must be loving so deeply.
You made the hurt a place I could live in comfortably.
You cut me into the shape of your past lover
with a double-edged sword.
As if their habits were my spinal cord.
This isn’t the man I know you to be, but I tilt my neck to the slightest degree in hopes that I can find remnants of him left in your silhouette.
I broke my toes,
Stepping on eggshells.
Constantly afraid to make the next move.

— The End —