Writhing on your knees,

wasting space on memories,

searching for him in me

someone I can’t be

on an autumn afternoon

through your limp tongue

and the words that travel;

over my regret.

I’m bound and locked in everything

you hate.

I’m paralyzed with anxiety.

I’m weaker, much weaker than I seem.

You still want him, but the leaves died

in an afterthought.

You see in me his love letters;

his love letters you discarded in the flames

of jealousy.

I’m vulnerable enough

to humor your sob stories,

but too weak to return a text

because even though you’re using me,

I’m still not good enough.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Twitter: AC0040