To the boy that didn’t
Or couldn’t
Love back the way I can
Days, nights, weeks, months, years
Your ego put my worth in the corner
Sit, stay
Your words defined my value
“She’s learning”
You warned
Dulled knives
Launched from your lips
Into my skin and flesh
So I wore them
Defined by you
Stupid, Clumsy, Crazy
Wrong
Bitch
I wore those knives
Those exhaustive
Toothless knives
Not sharp
Not keen
Yet they plunged
Similarly
our walls
Wore the holes
and cracks
at your design
“Decor”
Disfigured
But to the boy that can’t
I’m sorry
That your damage
Disintegrates those you touch
Into fragmented dismantle
Once a heart that shimmered
Glistened
Became barred
Shielded
With a brigade of
“What If”s and “I’m sorry”s
Blemished
By your inability
Drowned
By your insecurity
I’m underwater
Full of knives
Looking up
You hold me down
My lungs ache
You rise at my expense
You assembled
A convincing mirage
An illusion
A float
Thank you
I knew you loved me
I trust you
As you force
Yet another
Edgeless knife
I sunk
Again
A pattern
A familiarity
“Comfort”
Your consistent inconsistency
For my appearance
For my attitude
For my standard
Was a race
I could never win
A ledge
I forever fell short of
So instead of jumping
I stood still
Drew my line in the sand
You shuffled through
Draw it straighter
Deception
I convinced
No
You convinced me
Something is wrong with me
Why
Your mother didn’t hug you tight enough
Didn’t kiss you goodnight
Your perception of women
Corrupt
Revolting
Objects. Toys. Puppets.
Accessories. Add-ons. Useful.
My life curled in your palms.
Delicate. Beautiful. Full.
Easy.
You marveled
In the sound
As you crunched it
Into a ball.
You laughed.
Boasted.
So to the boy that didn’t
And can’t
Love the way I can
I’m sorry
For the last time
That I hosted
The parasites
Of blood sucking faults Resulting from
The standard
that you fell short of
You cheated
But I’m crazy
You lied
But I’m crazy
You manipulated
But I’m crazy
Take a bow
You had me fooled
And somehow
Out of ash and debris
Remnants of self respect and worth
Building
Growing
Strong enough
To cut you
With your knives
Because now
I’ve learned to swim
Taylor O'Lynn writes from Roanoke, VA. This is her first published work.
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