When you left, I never blamed you
I sided with you, even.
Like an envelope to dry lips, your actions numb to my stomach because
you winked at me as you left; pulled yourself from my life
but never replaced yourself with anything dear.
There’s something about shoes that complete a home;
your’s went missing far before you needed them to run away
and mine was tightened over and over with shiny laces–
knotted and tied with the strength of fear over the door
without leaving any ends to pull for comfort.
I grew with arms waving to you from behind the
bowed prison,
and you added more bows for the outside world to see.
I would jump up on the counter above the sink
and play with the faucet while I looked for you to arrive
over the yonder, even a yard away looked so green.
Your car parked only for small moments;
smile, and I knew you would stay longer,
cry, and you would have toes curled, facing the nearest exit.
When was it that the bows became knots?
When was it that I stopped recognizing the discomfort?
With age my mouth grew a sharp blade to free myself within–
that only seemed to shelter everyone else and never truly save myself
from wanting what I can’t make another ever willingly give.