I feel so utterly replaceable.
I feel like feeling anything at all is dangerous.
Times before I used to just bottle it up
pretending I was happy, nothing else.
Biting my tongue became routine
and anger was the only emotion I possessed
on days that weren’t so happy.
And I say fuck that,
because I’m tired of hiding behind a smile
faking that everything is okay
when clearly I know that it’s not.
I will not walk on glass
to keep you safe.
I will not pick the shards from my feet
just so you can sit back and apologize
for being the weight that I carry.
You can give me whatever treatment you wish,
but do not expect me to put up with it.
I wrote you poems and prose,
and it seems as if my words are not enough.
I worry and it seems to be too much.
So I’m sorry if the effort I make
to not be the person I was
is way too much for you to handle.
But the things I do
and the words I write
are mostly for you.
But don’t ever think
I will change who I am for your benefit.
Never will I go back to biting my tongue
punching walls and pent up aggressions.
You told me not to worry,
so that’s exactly what I’ll do.
The space between your fingers
will soon feel the wind.
The space next to you in bed
will soon feel the cold.
Hanging on empty words
and feeling the wrath
of someone else’s mistake
is something i’ve dealt
with for far too long.
Love me with all you have,
or don’t fucking love me at all.
I try too hard for you
and I guess you feel the same.
I can’t read your mind.
I’m tired of being the one you blame.
All I’ve ever wanted is to help you,
to be the one to paint a smile across you face.
But you send me away with the wind,
and hope I never come back again.