you threw the lampshade at me,
the pink beaded monstrosity from target
rushing past me before you hit me.
the next day i woke with a bruise,
and you apologised.
my therapist said,
"you're too young to hate the world."
i gave a convincing smile,
crinkled my eyes, laughing
at her. at my self.
i didn't say,
"i don't hate the world. just those in it."
i'm not going to lie: i have no idea
what i'm doing,
so when you apologised, i kissed you,
and i let you touch me.
you said it made you feel better,
and didn't i love you?