i am a broken truth.

brok-en words I spit brok-en syllables and pretend to know the words that come out of my mouth like they’ve been typed on double sided paper. I pretend to pause to breathe but I pause to think and recall what facade I'm trying to play, what face am I putting on today. I morph into her then I morph into them, I am a shapeshifter the way I tend to morph in tens. I wonder and I ask myself, why do we do this? Why does she do this? Why do they do this? Why am I doing this? I lift my arms and wave like a composer pulling all the strings I'm pulling all their strings, what game are we playing today? Some days I blow kisses like their cherries on my tongue, like I have so much to give; I'm filling empty cups. Other days I'm bitter to the taste. I make sure my lips sting to the touch, I taste sour, I’m no longer what you want. I give you paper cuts on your lips, you taste blood but don’t recognize it (me) for what it is. I give you something to grieve you’ll never know peace with me, can’t you see this is what I need you to comprehend, I am a broken truth; I will never be yours to mend.