i will tear a bleeding hole for you to climb into.
will you pick up the shattered parts and finally undo
all the damage done inside of me or will you tunnel through
to seek and find my quiet heart and choose to break that, too?
before you cast your cutting words or seek to misconstrue,
bite your tongue to stop and think of who you’re talking to.
you can’t penetrate me like the way you used to do;
slash through my veins or smash my brains or obfuscate my view.
i’m sick of falling for your tricks; i’m not your ingenue.
this scrutiny and callousness is what i will eschew
as i collect the broken pieces of the me that i once knew
and bind them back together to become something brand-new.
this queer machine will come complete and won’t let you subdue
the functioning that keeps it clean and won’t be led askew
to keep from being poisoned by the pain you would imbue;
to persist its sanguine purpose and to drink the blood you drew
to give new life and meaning to the me that is not you.