Nail polish on your left hand, black.
You wore inverted bracelets,
dividing you in half, screaming defiance.
Was it only on purpose in perspective?
Was it a sign, was I too shallow to see?
Maybe I couldn't hear your steel nerves,
grating together, working opposite,
as you balanced who you were
with what everyone expected.
You tried to chisel out the pain,
create the perfect imitation of a struggle,
leaving the spectators to wonder
if your tragedy was in its final act.
Did you ever break a mirror, feel relief in its edges,
take comfort that the image could be broken?
Did you feel shallow, thinking that the external factors
shouldn't factor, knowing they were all that mattered?
I never knew your inner deadline, the contents of your bucket list,
or when you would see you deserved another chance.
Most people can see the things they're afraid of,
they can run when the monster gets too close.
So what do you do when the monster is you?
What do you do when you can't seem to move?
The questions keep burning in my head,
wondering which ones I should leave unsaid.