I want to be in control of how I feel
because I’m still angry and I hate anger
and I hate that you’re the reason –
didn’t I always want to be a strong girl
who can love without flinching,
a smart girl who can pick her own battles
but I’m hurt every time I hope for the best in you
and I’m losing when it’s not a game,
worse still because I see your goodness –
just not in the way I need it most.
I envy how you compartmentalize me,
minimize me, set me aside as if for paint to dry
until you decide to miss me, us, our something.
But as much as it would diminish the hurt,
I would not trade it for how cruel you can be.