i’ve decided that i let you off the hook too easily. never wrote your name in a poem or demanded an apology.

i could’ve been red with my anger. spit it onto your doorstep like baby teeth ripped from their roots.

only a child and i didn’t know love had to be earned. i didn’t know that doing everything right never guarantees a warm bed.

in my pocket i carry around a list of things that i bargained for and it reads as follows: the bike you gave me and then took back, the coffee mug i made for your birthday in the sink, my favorite sweatpants i left at your house, that we would not always be there sitting on the couch watching movies and talking about the trolley problem.

i thought i was safe in your house but i was just a rabbit, tied to railroad tracks. praying to it’s cold teeth. mistaking the grip of steel for somewhere that would be safe.