i’m not a puzzle piece
that you can just put together
and I don’t think you understand
that my edges transform and change shape.
you don’t hold my hand,
instead your throw me far away
and I hide my head in disgrace
because you make me feel so ugly
when the evil comes up from out the grave.
you can try and mold me,
make me better,
or you can give up on me
because it just won’t register in your head that this is not a scratch,
this is not a scrape,
it won’t heal in a few days.
this is a wound that has lived for decades
and will not just simply dissipate.
so to say that I am a selfish being,
when you are a selfish lover,
to say that I am only hurting others,
instead of truly wanting me to stop,
will only enforce the resonance
that I’m even more alone than I thought.