I guarded myself
from the shelter of therapy,
which contemplated its worth
through phrases of regret
that replaced the side of me
that you’ll never see.
Fury’s eyes performed a symphony
of guilt, shame, and blame.
It’s me; I’m always to blame.
But despite my dislike of my own skin,
visions of you bound me not to reality.
So I grinned and pretended that you
used space wisely in my head.

Twitter – @AC0040

(© 2023 AC)

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