It's not you, it's me

When we met, I told you I was a vagrant drifter

that liked to stand on the edge of cliffs and play catch with the wind

until it heaves me over the tip, and you were the ice and the razor-

edged rocks I would land on. I know that you are not about poetry,

that you can't see the wreck between my ribs or the jagged

edges of my heart when I talk to you. I know that you don't

understand that my bones aren't made of barbed wire like yours are

and if you let me unfold in front of you, I am going to turn you into a bandage

I will use to heal up old wounds but make new ones. I have taught myself

to be reckless and sloppy in an attempt to avoid feeling weak, but there

is glass where my limbs should be and they will break if you hold them

too tightly. I am not like most people.

When we met, I thought I could crack you like an eggshell until

everything that you were too afraid to tell me would spill out like yolk,

but you cracked me instead, and now I am empty. The long silences

now fill up a room the way fire would inside a burning building,

and we are being suffocated by it, the torch that ignited it

still sitting in the place where I left it.

Reviews

[Jamie]

Beautiful piece of work really enjoyed this!

[Roger Turgeon]

Complex relationships form in the world of opposites

[A. Amos]

Interesting and your passion is visible in your words

[Frieda P]

Heard that cliche before, ahh, all the illusions, delusions of love, you pen'd them well. Some great lines here, I especially liked...

liked to stand on the edge of cliffs and play catch with the wind
until it heaves me over the tip, and you were the ice and the razor-

A cutting, biting read, nice job.