what a convenient distraction you have become.

when i am too much,

when i question my voice,

when i am lonely,

when i worry that i have become unlovable,

i relive the gentle way you told me no

and no again.

 
i recall the weight

of your silence.

 
i think of all the places

that you are

and i am not.

i imagine you,

slightly drunk,

finding comfort

 
in my absence.

 

i am happy much of the time,

but i find on my most human days,

you have become the weapon

with which i punish myself

for my own failings,

real and imagined.
 

we don't speak

or see one another anymore,

intentionally

or even accidentally.

still,

when i feel my worst,

you're the whip i use

to count my sins.

we take up so little space

in each other’s lives now.

i am not sure what is left

to give up.