that moment when you realize

that all you hug at night

is your

stuffed

moose

i
am not a good person.
they say
i
am as sweet as the candy
i
give to their children; they say
i
am the angel that collects new wings
every time
i
smile, because you can hear it ring.
but
there are worlds behind these eyes
that they have never seen,
and you might think that beautiful
but darling, trust me when
i
say that it is not;
and
i
have never worn a sugar-coated halo
or looked in the mirror
and smiled because
i
like who
i
am.
i
am not a good person,
i
simply do good things for
wrong reasons.
i
write long birthday cards because
i
don’t want to be forgotten,
and
i
smile at strangers because
i
want to be noticed.
i
love giving gifts, but
when it comes to receiving
i
turn them into weapons if
i
have the courage to accept them
in the first place.
i
eat the things
i
am allergic to because it’s another way
to hurt myself, and
i
have skipped the food
i
should be eating because
that’s another way, too.
i
claim that
i
am strong, but
i
listen to loud music because
i
can’t stand it when my family fights,
and
i
only plant flowers
to have something to care for.
“i”
is written in a line all its own
because
i
have never thought that
i
needed anyone, or that
anyone needed me;
and
i
don’t use capitals because
i
don’t believe
i
am worthy.
it makes this poem
scattered
and muddled
and tiresome to finish.
it makes this story
disjointed
and broken
and difficult to read.
but then again
how fitting, because
so
am
i

forgive me.
I have no other plea but this.
forgive me
for living lies
lies that say I do not belong to you,
that your blood was not enough,
that the only person I hurt was myself.
there is pain
everywhere
seeping from my eyes,
my shoulder,
and his texts.
I am responsible for this pain
but instead of biting in bitterness
at that responsibility,
I should have let it break me
and bring me back
to grace.
but I chose another road—
the trail I blazed myself
the one I’ve walked for years
the one I know so well.
this time
I brought him to the path
and let him walk beside me.
I wanted him there.
he was safe.
so very different
from the stranger in my nightmare.
but I wasn’t broken yet.
instead I was sharp
as sharp as the silver edge I clung to
and it hurt him
to walk on my path.
he chose to stay,
but sent me back into the forest
until I learned to crave this plea:
forgive me.
there are two different streams of blood
and I chose
the one that stains my hands
and not the one that cleanses my heart.
break me
so I can heal
and forgive me.
this is all I ask.
to the one who walked beside me
and who I hurt,
forgive me.
and to the one who walked beside me
and who chose to stay,
thank you.