At times,
your heavy gaze encumbers me.
My legs quiver, my knees wobble.
My legs fold like a cheap card table
And I crumble to the ground.

What if I left, and
Left everything behind?
Possessions that embody me will
and become fragments of
my former self.

Eventually, they will be their own
And I will be my own,
And you will be your own.
It will only be a matter of time
Until I am
ready to misplace my identity again.

Unfortunately, like puzzle pieces
From different images,
But cut from the same jig,
It is not love, but comfort
That keeps our mismatched
minds together.

Who owns the regrets?
My disappointment impedes
my plethora of excuses.
Or maybe it’s yours.
Oh, not your excuses, but
Your disappointment.

And that is what I must run from.


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