by Emily R Mazza
I’ve been told by the movies to hold your hand and kiss your broken pieces But I am standing here with glass in my palm and cracks in the center of my lip wondering what I’d done to deserve this.
Because I’ve seen the intensity in a glance and the lust in a touch, But when I look at you I go blank and when you touch my skin I ripple in nervousness and I am terrified.
Because the butterflies that should flutter throughout my heart and mind have grown knives instead of wings and they are swarming in my head.
when your lies still stitch together the wounds that you ripped into my skin-- it makes no sense how such a weak foundation still holds me in tact.
the way that you laugh when something cripples your happiness and the smile that spreads across your weakening face when you feel dead inside.
The way that your insides squeeze tight when you hear the three incomprehensible words and how your knees go weak when my voice cracks as I utter “I have to leave you”.
I understand your pain.
I am confused
Because everything in me wants to hold you tight enough that I squeeze your broken pieces back together but I also know that the ridges of the pieces that have ruined you,
still poke out from your soul and they are now killing me too.
I want to stay, but I need to grow.