i,
learn to bandage your scraped knuckles
to clean up the flesh wounds and sew up your heart
once you turned five no one kissed your boo-boos
so the blood kept gushing even after your body healed
you,
let me fuss and nag with a poor imitation of irritation
soaking up all the love others were too weak to offer
the love maybe i should give to myself,
but i figure there’s enough to go around.
except,
there isn’t.
codependency is a funny thing.
i,
empty myself to fill you.
you,
feel so i don’t have to.
a funny, funny thing
indeed.
