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?