Reactions
I’m sitting in a room, that’s over seventy degrees.
I know that’s not why I feel cold.
I’m shivering because you threw me out the door,
right after I peeled off all my layers,
and shed myself down to my core;
for you.
My teeth are chattering
because they’re fluttering with all the requests for forgiveness that I want from you,
and all the apologies that you don’t want to hear.
The cold is creating ice,
where the tears will stop halfway down my cheeks,
because somehow,
even in the cold,
when you feel no pain
(just all of your weaknesses building up)
I can feel every cut and bruise you’ve ever made.
You’ve settled your words of hate, into my marrow.
The bits of each bitter sentence you feed to me,
morphs into my bloodstream and seeps into each muscle fiber.
From there, every move I make, is a part of you,
and a secondary action to the way you treated me;
the way we’ll stay forevermore.
Because it’s not that you “loved” me,
it’s that you can’t stand to think that you once thought I was something special.
I know that’s not why I feel cold.
I’m shivering because you threw me out the door,
right after I peeled off all my layers,
and shed myself down to my core;
for you.
My teeth are chattering
because they’re fluttering with all the requests for forgiveness that I want from you,
and all the apologies that you don’t want to hear.
The cold is creating ice,
where the tears will stop halfway down my cheeks,
because somehow,
even in the cold,
when you feel no pain
(just all of your weaknesses building up)
I can feel every cut and bruise you’ve ever made.
You’ve settled your words of hate, into my marrow.
The bits of each bitter sentence you feed to me,
morphs into my bloodstream and seeps into each muscle fiber.
From there, every move I make, is a part of you,
and a secondary action to the way you treated me;
the way we’ll stay forevermore.
Because it’s not that you “loved” me,
it’s that you can’t stand to think that you once thought I was something special.