I used to think 
 the people who thought pain was beautiful 
 were fucked in the head 
 but now I know
 they were just looking in a mirror
 and they wanted to actually like what they saw 
  
 we all want to like ourselves 

 I have a theory:
 you hate him
  
 you hate him because he’s like you
 the way he talks
 the way he cries
 the way his light fades
 when you look away
  
 but he’s your moon:
 he can only reflect you 

 am I your inner child?
 do you care for me
 as a way of caring for yourself?
 sometimes my inner child is my future baby
 and I care for myself
 so that one day
 I may care for her
 better to raise her imperfectly
 than to watch from above
  
 maybe if you keep caring for me
 you can get me to that place of safety
 away from the place of cold and shadows
  
 on some days
 my inner child is the plant I’ve had for nine years
 and on some days
 watering that plant is enough 

 this room used to feel bigger when you were in it
 I missed you at the time
 but I miss you even more now that you’re back
 your laugh has become toxic
 your humor snide
 who would have thought then
 that you’d be full of such pride?
 such shit?
 you’re legit
 on my final nerve ending
 and I just killed the last cell in my brain
 that cared about you
 and about what you think
 but if that were true
 then this all wouldn’t hurt so much
 would it? 

 maybe I’ll get bored
 and write some poetry on the shitter
 that might feel good 

 I only feel together 
 when
 I’m tearing myself
 apart
 that’s a life of hypocrisy  

 I can like you as a person
 and hold you at a distance
 let me set my intention
 I don’t need your permission
 I don’t need you
 I don’t mean that
 don’t cross me
 don’t leave me
 did you ever love me?
 do you love me now?
 do you even like me?
 it’s all unknowable