my wounds are not wounds.
these are remembrances on how you have disqualified me of courage.
i have given you permission for your cruelty. i was designed for this abuse.
you arranged me to be broken: you taught me to refuse my own valor, your kindness is callous,
and i hung my heart to this affliction like a question mark. and the answer was subdued to
this truth: the only known resolve to this was negligence. the whole idea of disregard
imbued on the skin, immune and irresilient from the terror of this devotion:
that this love was a thoughtful deception. you taught me to be undeserved, you showed me
how i was only whole in the collapse of your own making, and yet I was the one who
taught myself to repair.
i always shuddered before you: that was how i always felt the ache of the world:
to love you was to suffer the world’s loneliness.
i kept my damages as a tribute to remember and write this one
with nothing to my name but the sound of yours, how it was both love and pain.
there is no why.
tremble with a sigh.