We both know that breaking things is
easier. My steps have always been heavy and I have all the grace of an elephant
on roller skates. I crashed onto the scene and I’m sorry you had to pay the
price for my clumsiness in whatever-we-were.
But you’ll heal, and you’ll scar, and
those scars will eventually fade.
I’ll be here, bleeding, and missing limbs.
It’s so hard to be your own tourniquet.
Please, tell me again how much I shouldn’t
hurt.
I give everything I have away like pocket
change, and then fight, claw, and spit for the slightest bit of affection from
anyone willing. You have all of my everything, and I have nothing of you.
Sure, you can play the victim since I was
the one that did the breaking. We broke like a Three Stooges skit; you were the
stooge hit over the head and I was the glass shattered on the floor.
But please, tell me again how much I
shouldn’t hurt.
