come clean

go to her instead of me?

Were you not finished?
Was she better?
Did she make you happier than I did?

What flipped the switch in your mind
when you turned her on instead of me?

Was it the old you,
wounds still fresh from her loss?
Was it spite? Did you want to hurt me?
Was it your insecurities?
Did she know how to comfort you better than I did?

Listen to you better?
Hold you better?
Did she love you better than I did?

When you had to choose
why did you go left instead of right?

Were you afraid of me?
Surely you know what that looked like:
me saying all the wrong things,
pushing you to be better,
caressing all the mistakes
you’ve made over a lifetime
of not feeling good enough.

Instead of calling a friend,
a parent,

you called her.

Instead of repairing us,
you called her.

Instead of choosing to love me at my worst,
you chose her.

What good was this well constructed castle,
ornamented with the crystals of my love,
tapestries of my trust,
if it decayed from the inside out?

And the worst part is
I can own your mistakes,
but you can not.



Against my better judgement,
I am ready
to share myself
with you.

I am ready to crack
this idea of perfection
with 24 years
of hammers.

I am ready
to communicate,
to learn to love,
to be honest with myself.

To trust,
to put faith
in a world
I know
remains broken.

To shed my skin,
free myself of the stained remains
of who I tried to be.

I am ready to be who I am.


I wasn’t raised to feel,
I was raised to think.
To bottle,
to blame,
to fake perfection at the expense
of my self-worth,
my confidence.
Any signs of cracks
were shamed.
I don’t know how to navigate
a mess of a world that thrives
on passive-agression.

-my mother’s answer to problems is therapy