wounded.

and if i don’t need anything from you,
you can’t hurt me…
or, so i tell myself
yet i still sit longing
for your kiss on my skinned knee,
for your gentle fingers
to piece back together my broken heart.

impossible
since your lips drip with venom
and gentleness seems reserved for others.

no matter how deep the wounds,
you’re still the loss i feel most deeply
perhaps because
you’re not really gone,
just unable
to meet me.

there is so much pain
in missing you,
wishing
for you.

just beyond my reach,
yet right there before me.
i could scream.

but i could scream if i had you,
and scream if i couldn’t.

i can no longer discern
what it is that i’m wanting, here.
and that’s what makes me want to scream.

always wanting the wrong thing,
what i can’t have,
or shouldn’t.

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