I’m Not Blaming Myself Anymore

You sit on your floor
whining about the latest
wounds the love of your life
gave you for your birthday.
You sit there pretending to
smile and laugh and squeeze a
joke out of your suffocating
mind. You battle the
world in the tags of your posts,
hiding your face behind your
punch while collecting your
tears in mason jars to show off your
pain to those who won’t disagree
with you.
You got hurt.
You have bruises that won’t
go away and you
search the file cabinets and cardboard boxes
to find that you have not been as
organized as you once thought. Your
life no longer fits into
color-coated folders and binders. You
can’t throw the
blue and red ones under your
bed because the memories are too
tough to bite into. You are, for the
first time, forced to look in the
mirror and see your mistakes
projected in front of you. You can
try to break all the mirrors, but the
images will appear on
every wall you run into. You can’t
escape the cage you
built around

I have the key.
You never asked for it.

Published by

Nic Rasmussen

A Brooklyn-based poet who has a lot of feelings and writes about them quite often.

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