Once I was a caterpillar,
Curious but often naive,
Observing from the ground,
Waiting for my time to leave.

Then I was a luna moth,
Silhouette whispering to the moon,
Drawn to the heat and fleeting warmth,
Of men who did what they wanted to do.

When I was a black widow,
A man eater they'd say,
I lived recklessly in my villian era,
Until my empathy got in the way.

I think I'll try again as a hermit,
Not very brave but tired of bleeding,
I traverse through this sand,
Longing for a shell that won't demand meaning.

I'll fold the laundry and laugh with my sisters,
maybe take my daughter for a walk.
I'll pick up the same toys one thousand times and hear "Hey mom look at me",
and I'll smile everytime.
It's a day like any other to everyone but me,
Yet I keep it to myself.
My broken heart won't ruin their stories, their laughter, their play,
I'll bottle it up and keep going about my day.

I know you’re tired of me, because I’m tired of myself. And it’s not just the weight of my body, but the relentless echo of my thoughts, circling like vultures over the dead parts of me I can’t seem to resurrect. Each morning feels like I’m peeling myself out of bed, shedding skin that’s steeped in shame. I watch you sip your drink, knowing it’s easier than saying my name. You used to look at me like I was the sunset, worth staying a little longer for. Now your eyes drift: to the clock, to the glow of your phone, to anywhere but here. And I can’t bring myself to blame you. I built a mausoleum out of what we had, hoping you’d still find warmth in a tomb. My chest wasn’t always this hollow, but over time it unraveled, thread by thread, pulled by hands that mimicked mine. Now even your kindness makes me flinch, and the silence between us feels like confirmation of everything I fear. Somehow, I’m always too much and never enough all at once. I understand if your soul is weary, calloused by the effort it takes just to keep trying. I’ve carried the ache of my own presence for so long that sometimes, even I wish I could leave.

Ill pack up your things,
Toss them in the yard,
Your clothes and my rings,
I'll throw them so ******* far

You don't have to worry,
They'll be back in their places tomorrow,
I'll make you breakfast I'm sorry,
I know better than to act on my sorrow

The comings days will be fine,
A few weeks of apologetic bliss,
I know you'll keep crossing my boundary line,
But **** I crave your venomous kiss