I would give
every poem
I've written in
the last two years
to go back
and change the
person that I became
with him
I have hung my
crown of thorns up
on the wall
the wounds on my
forehead are
closing
I forgot what it was
like to not have to
constantly be wiping
blood out of my
eyes
I forgot what it
was like to starve the
parts of myself that
you wanted,
to feed the parts that you
taught me to
hate
and yet, sometimes,
I can feel the scars
on my temple rip
open
when I smile
