you’re not even mine
and i promised myself a long time ago-
in cold blood, walking my neighborhood alone
like a crazy homeless person,
until my mother finally found me shivering by the roadside
struggling to put one foot in front of the other and make my way home
my face soaked in tears and my hair a mess,
with empty eyes and empty hands-
that i would not ever think of myself as belonging to someone again
because the bitterest pill is to realize that you were unwanted all along;
but i cannot help but smile at the thought
that i have known you this long and still find you around,
and maybe that means i have some claim over you, after all.
i know these thoughts are poison
seeping into my veins and grinning smugly because they know
that i will never again allow myself to bleed out the toxins that circulate in my system.
i know that i am no more entitled to your presence or care
than birds are entitled to safely land on electrical lines,
and that you probably think of me about as often
as the stars are known to shine in suburbia-
seldom, and faintly, if ever.
but one of those poison thoughts coursing through my bloodstream
was lighter fluid,
and God only knows that I am something of a pyromaniac.
i am a moth
and you are the flame
and i know i am doomed
and i am afraid to decide whether or not i care.