cPTSD

I gave you the delight
of my trusting eyes,
but you didn’t see
because your own
were fixed
on the back of your skull.

I wrote you songs
beyond my years,
but you didn’t hear
because your ears
were busy praising
other girls’ mediocrity.

I brought you a bouquet
of freshly plucked eyelashes,
but you slapped them out of my fingers
then smacked my cheeks
into red-hot shame
and denied me shoes.

I gifted you
the proud significance
of my expired virginity,
but you turned your striped back to me
and covered my fever
with contempt
and personal grievance.

I handed you
that treasured earring you envied,
a token of scarce, distant love,
but you snatched back your palm
in disdain and ignorance.

I cut you miles of slack
granted scores of pardons
and gave persistent benefitted doubt,
but you demanded
always
more.

When there is no one
to bathe our wounds,
eventually we die from sepsis.

When no one adores our magic
or protects our flame
eventually we flicker
then fade,
dissolving
into
smoke.

© S. Rinderle, January 2025