Fictional

Lick the lies off your lips, you’re better than this. You think I can’t see them? Trying to wipe them on the backs of your hands like ice cream. Like we’re 11 again and no one cares that you use your hands as napkins. We grew out of that, you didn’t. We learned how to clean our messes up, you didn’t. You think that because you’re broken you get a pass? We’re all broken, all pieces of glass. But you, you’re still sitting on the swings at recess wiping your snot on the back of your hands, expecting someone to pick you up when you fall, not caring that we cut ourselves in the process. How many times can I pick you up with my bleeding hands? How many nights do I have to kiss my own half opened scars? When we we’re little, you would fall onto those disgusting dirt roads and your fat tears would roll down your cheeks and I would hold your hand until you stopped. You always picked yourself up and kept going.  I know your problems are bigger now, but so are you. Please, pick yourself up this time, I know you need me here but I cant stay anymore. We’re not kids anymore, my life is moving and my back burns as I try to move you with it. All those years of my waiting, and you picked your life over mine every time. Every time I tried to leave this town you pulled me back, I stayed because of you, breathing the same stale air year after year, praying that maybe you would wake up one day and love me enough to let me live, to let me go. But you didn’t. I can’t wait for someone else to love me anymore. I need to love me, I need to leave.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s