To mend the broken.
When the body is sick,
you take medicine.
But in reality,
any medicine that you could give me would only put
a stopper on all of the emotions that I pretend to not feel.
There are so many times that I wish that I could go to any doctor
so that I looked fine.
So that you would never know my longing.
So that the happiness that I could pretend to feel
could shine through and I would look like missing you
would be that last thought in my mind.
Meanwhile, I know it's there all the time.
IIt's clear that you've found someone else to long for,
I hope that you never have to miss anything.
Most people find it adjacent to impossible
to wish a loved someone well with someone else
while you stand in your skin, lone as a wolf.
Wounded, I sprain and strain myself in an attempt to
smile and laugh without it sounding artificial.
Maybe I make too serious a deal of myself,
maybe I'm having trouble tracking my time.
I look at days as weeks,
and then I wonder why the time grew wings.
And I'm sure that you're just fine.
Your hours are spent with someone that
matters most to you,
more than I ever would.
It's easy to mend a broken bone because
you truly learn to live without it.
Though it's temporary, the bone is never truly the same
once it relapses back into place.
But, as you've healed, I have to be alone to mend myself.
Crushed on the ground, I wonder how you are.
I wonder how she is.
It's easy to see that she's gorgeous in and out,
while it's apparent that I am not.
The scars inside that I cover,
I don't want to imagine how you'd look at me then.
They fade to a dull pink, but they will never leave.
You did.
I know that I was never the best.
But I was who I was and every once in the blackest moon,
I'll look back and I'll wonder if you ever look at me the way I once looked at you.
In the times that I wasn't looking, I ponder the proabilty that I wasn't as hideous
as I made myself look.
I was a very different person when I tried to be what you wanted.
I used to like to think that I was pretty on the inside,
and that it just took a certain person to look behind all of my masks
to see who I really was inside.
Maybe it wasn't you,
or maybe I should've just stopped trying so hard.
My earnest intentions never made me look half as
humbled and hollowed out as I really was.
After you, I'm ill with the boredom of neutrality of being so broken up.
I long to reach the time when I am immune to your attention or your affection.
When I no longer wish to keep your gaze.
That time is not now, and because it is not, I constantly wonder if it will come at all.
In a world of such independence, it's a puzzling thing that I can't heal myself.
Starfish can regenerate their limbs, cats can lick at their wounds,
and they survive unscathed.
I look at myself behind the ribs, and I think of how much I've shut out.
Perhaps to repair, I merely need to allow something in.
Human Dignity + Compassion = Peace.