Thief

You've stolen me.

Changed me.

Molded me into a better,

Brighter,

Self.


It's painful to admit,

That I let you in.


That I trust you.

That I love you.


I'm scared.

This is familiar.

I've been scared so long.

It's a basic reaction now.


Fear turns to anger.

And I am so god-damn angry.

I want to throw things.

I want to scream.

I want to steal back what you took.


I want to break myself and you.

I want this because I can't stand this vulnerability.

If I break it, perhaps I can pull away.

Perhaps I can get myself back.


But I know I can't.

I know that we are tied together.

I know that, though I hate this prison, I love it more.


You were a thief.

And I am scared.

And I am angry.


And I am in love.

Stubborn

Why do I push?

I refuse, without thought,

To move.

You request so little,

Yet to do what you ask,

I must shift,

And so it is

Impossible.

Why do I act like this?

I have no reason to live defensively.

You are kind and flexible.

Yet I see in checkerboard.

This or that.

Here or there.

Her or me.

There is a middle,

I must remind myself.

There are more than two sides.

There are more solutions,

Though my brain appears to break at the thought.

I force. 

I would rather stand firm than shift even a hair.

You are an elastic band.

Bending and conforming to the situation.

I just sit, rooted.

Trapped in my own conviction.

There is good in being stubborn.

This is not the good part.

This is the part that breaks.

I am already coated in imperfection.

I am blemished.

How many more times will I survive?

As strong as I may seem, there is always a breaking point.

How does a mountain learn to bend?

Painfully, it seems.