The Upper Hand

For a moment there,

for just one

insane

narcissistic

self-serving

second

 

I saw your spine cracked in half

Tender body racked with black rain

Dry-heaving, cries leaving you red

Raw, like the very beginning

 

And I thought

so haughtily

that I had the upper hand

 

After all,

he never stirred a purge

Never disturbed your perfectness

quite like I did

 

And I smiled

 

And then that smile died

in its pocket

 

It occurred to me

you never shattered for him

Never split

into fine, golden, broken pieces

because he never gave you reason to

 

He kept you

Whole

 

 

You can also read this poem here

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