sharp like dental floss

I am not sparse hot breath that tumbles
whistling
over lips
forming angry words
sharp like dental floss

I am not accusing similarities that do not apply

I am not making comparisons bearing no honest basis for comparison

If you feel you have reached this message in error, please let me explain again

perpetually
I am eight years old standing in an off-white living room corner
cheeks leaning in against smeared tears on cold plaster
and
thinking with a Shakespearian-like talent for being trite:

"I'm here because no one loves me."

I end up in that corner of my own accord
blaming others for anxieties I can't shake on my fucking own

day after week after month after year after you

"...come on.  Come on.  Don't you wanna know how fucked up I am?"

I am desperate refusal to believe correct premotions
I am (have been) proven right
indicating infidelity
you do know that

I trusted a wrong feeling a few days ago
improperly
I pasted a flimsy magazine cutout of you into my corner
fired unfair questions into you
you did not respond
you shouldn't have
but

I am not a shallow regurtitated promise

you take my love lightly
as a child grounded for cursing

fuck you for that

I am not a recycled admission of love
and
neither are you.