The walls in my chest were mirrors and duct tape.
I pressed shattered glass behind my eyes
So I could reflect you back, so
When you look at me,
Look past me, see
Strands of your hair, still tangled
On my bedroom walls –
See you behind them
Some part of you, still
Aching, the memory of your hands
Cold, pressed into my skin
As I pressed back, pulled back
I don’t know, for
A warmth I have forgotten.
I say, I am not trying to make you into a home
Even as I pack my bags – empty
For you to fill,
I tell you
I did not mean to make you God-like
Through my stained glass, I look at you
Wonder which of us is saved.