It Was Me

I pull the butcher knife from under my wings,

chop you into pieces that fit in my hands.

I chase you to the end of the earth as you collapse.

I demand a forever you aren’t willing to give.

I convinced myself the world is a monster ready to eat me alive.

I have no choice but to die

or allow outsiders to touch what’s mine.

Bruised vocal cords and bloodshot eyes,

we fell into an early grave,

settled for a false love.

My body has aged,

but my spirit is without wisdom.

After twenty years,

it’s too late to start over.

I never fought for anything,

only for the world I created in my head and claimed,

but you can’t own what doesn’t exist.

When will I fight to the end of the earth for myself?

Live in the world I belong in?

I exist as who I want to be.

I become who I believe I am.

I am the monster,

unless I loosen my grip,

return the pieces I stole,

then I will be

whole on my own.