Don’t take what you can from me.
It’s the only thing I have.
The thread to my sanity.
I have pricked my finger over and over again just trying to achieve the perfect seam that will hold together what is left of who I am and who I used to be.
My words are my own.
My writing is my identity.
My poetry is my therapy session, minus the cost.
And I need to heal.
I see your growing insecurities.
I see them better than I see my own.
I don’t desire jealousy.
I don’t want to stand in the way of your hopes and dreams.
I don’t want to disable our wiring.
But I will disconnect.
I will lose any spark I have left inside of me.
And after having lost myself for so many years, gaining back my sense of self has never been so vital, so crucial to my survival.
You would give me everything you had.
But now you’re taking the one thing I need.