to he who knew me
not truly:
i've changed
and
you wouldn't know my face
anymore,
not if you found me
in the rear-view mirror;
not if you took me head-on
like a subway train;
not if you saw me
and actually saw me
instead of you
and your own fear
fear that keeps the key
just beyond your long fingers
i don't pity you
and i'm not ashamed.
to he i once thought
i loved,
we were children
then
or so we say
i haven't forgotten your anger
laced with the silence
of what you couldn't admit--
that we were wrong
that we were weak
that you had cried
now,
time eases the lines
around your eyes,
makes it okay
to laugh again
you're not nursing old wounds
today
but you say
i'm carving
new ones
to he whose innocence
i thieved,
i don't want it
and if i could
i'd give it back
it belongs to
someone better
but you knew that
to she who makes me
feel ugly,
you've felt the honest burn
of the way i love
and here you linger still,
waiting for nothing
except maybe tomorrow
i've always found it
so disgustingly effortless
to take out my self-hatred
on you
and your faults
because they terrify me
because they are me
and it's easiest
to hit the reflection
which cannot defend itself
i wish
just once,
you'd yell at me.
to he who knows me
in whole,
hope you know
the secret you hold--
i'm not ready
to share it
just yet
and
your patience
breaks my heart.
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