to he who knew me
not truly:


i've changed
and

you wouldn't know my face
anymore,
not if you found me
in the rear-view mirror;
not if you took me head-on
like a subway train;

not if you saw me
and actually saw me
instead of you
and your own fear


fear that keeps the key
just beyond your long fingers


i don't pity you
and i'm not ashamed.

















to he i once thought
i loved,


we were children
then
or so we say

i haven't forgotten your anger
laced with the silence
of what you couldn't admit--

that we were wrong
that we were weak
that you had cried


now,
time eases the lines
around your eyes,
makes it okay
to laugh again

you're not nursing old wounds
today

but you say
i'm carving
new ones

















to he whose innocence
i thieved,


i don't want it
and if i could
i'd give it back

it belongs to
someone better



but you knew that

















to she who makes me
feel ugly,


you've felt the honest burn
of the way i love

and here you linger still,
waiting for nothing



except maybe tomorrow



i've always found it
so disgustingly effortless
to take out my self-hatred
on you
and your faults

because they terrify me

because they are me

and it's easiest
to hit the reflection
which cannot defend itself



i wish

just once,



you'd yell at me.

















to he who knows me
in whole,



hope you know
the secret you hold--



i'm not ready
to share it


just yet




and



your patience
breaks my heart.