The Mess You Made Was Me
It was a Monday afternoon,
the sun was vague behind marshmallow clouds,
Only slivers of light reaching our pale and freckled bodies.
The afternoons humidity took us back to the old summer days,
we had always missed the warm sand sticking to each of our wet bodies.
It was a Monday afternoon when you tore off my left arm from the shoulder down.
It was the same Monday when I told you to just keep it.
I believe you gave it back to me the Friday of that same week,
your stitches were sloppy, but ideally they’d be stable.
Not that Sunday, but the next,
you stole my right leg from the hip down and you gave it the title of ‘borrowing’
Though I don’t recall ever agreeing.
You gave it back to me later that night in the rain at 2:33 am,
you screamed at me for my knees systematic aching when you used it.
I realized that I had made a pact with the devil, but I forgave you and thanked you for its return.
I think all of my favorite people are devils as well.
It was the last Tuesday of that month and I swear I will never forget what you did,
as you dug into my stomach I could feel the piercing cold metal blade puncture my abdomen slowly.
You had said you needed a kidney.
I knew I would not get it back when I died due to internal bleeding that Wednesday.
I watched you live the rest of that weekend,
I watched you giggle at the sloppy stitches that made me up and chuckle at my battle wound.
Laughing at the mess you’d made, even though the mess you made was me.
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This Poems Story
I've been torn apart by many people, emotionally rather than physically. In this poem, I made a character out to be the devil, symbolizing the unhealthy things I've been surrounded with previously, and the person being ripped away limb by limb as me.