speak softly

kicking up roadmaps

the words sputter out of my mouth like an exhaust pipe,
i feel so brittle and unwell by them i fear i might choke.
you were right.
i didn't want you to be,
i wanted to believe that i was an important memory-
that i was worth the waiting,
the tiptoeing,
the fight.

but you were right.
and my heart is in my stomach.
i'm gripping at bed sheets,
digging nails into my palm.

it's a feeling of bewilderment.
i wonder so often why people do what they do,
to the point my hair seems to thin,
and i have ground my teeth until my gums are sore.

i have forgiven more times than i can remember.
i've forgotten a hundred times more.
i wish i could say my hurt feels righteous,
but i am not that enlightened.

i am just miserably fretting,
exhausted by the whiplash of the events in one year alone.
and i'm cursing how you looked out for me-
just as you cursed my name,
slashing my tires so effortlessly,
i wondered if i did it to myself.

but you were right.
and frankly -
i may be messy,
but i'm kind.
so maybe i'll kick the final pebble,
even if it's in silence.
they'll no longer draw the map-

because far too often,
you are right.