The Windows to My Soul

A Poem

Photo by Marina Khrapova on Unsplash

can’t admit the truth,
not even to myself,
but that fickle clause
permeated my every fiber
because “you’re mine” never felt right
even when we linked hands together

tell me a sweet lie,
maybe that’ll do the trick,
but we’re so far from okay
while we’re sipping from broken glasses
and trying to forget we too are shattered
beyond repair, beyond even a small miracle

false promises,
that’s what you were,
when every guy was bending on one knee
while you just smoked your cigarettes
and said, “We’re too young for that shit,”
even as we ticked off our glory years

your brutal honesty —
you held yourself to that standard
and didn’t care how you looked
or even what you said, huh,
while I was crying in empty bathrooms
and no one was there to pick up the pieces