On You
I’m thinking about you again,
and I’ve finally let the fine wine of bitterness age,
grow darker in flavor. Get heavier.
I let it turn our memories sour,
no longer remember where flowers bloomed
as your fingertips traced my scars.
Remember how you called me manipulator,
attention-seeker, unable to keep myself alive.
I don’t mind letting the good memories go
in favor of the painful. I let the hurt ache.
I don’t mind hating you are much as I used to.