Hibernation of the Girl

I'm sick of all of this. I'm sick of you.

The realization

that my fingers

no longer wished to stroke you're face.

I live in a tomb when I'm here

hibernating,

on the collective memories of this sweet feeling.

I'm dizzy with all of these choices.

I've clung to you for years

a child with unprotected sense.

Never mind that I became yours, body and soul.

My walls have struck back up again

plastered of stone and metal

to keep you

(the sweet boy who became a monster) out.

He says that I'm being ridicules,

that I'm still his spit fire angel

his poet writing, soul reading girl.

Am I?

not when I feel like this, alone on the top stair

watching him through the doorway

loving another girl.