I try to greet you the way I always do
and like always you give me that scorching waterfall
that cascades down the sandpaper you write your rants on
which dissolves in water like my fingers would in acid
and every word you speak is just another excuse to pull the rest of your opinions out of my mouth.

I’m sorry, I did not volunteer to be your puppet or the one who writes everything down for you so you have time to keep thinking up ways to conquer the world
although sometimes I like to call myself that and think you’re worthy

I did not volunteer to be the one that stands on the doorstep waiting for you to come home
because even if I wanted to be her
when you inevitably never show up and I walk off the rough welcome mat
there’s a thornbush on my feet reminding me that no matter how long I stand there, no matter how many thorns I pick up in my lifetime
you can still hurt me worse with a single sticky note left on the bedside table that says I’m just not good enough

I can get rid of the graphite on that note with just a shred of rubber but I’d rather not
I want to keep it as a reminder that I am not this girl, I have always been this girl

Although I’d rather be that pathetic paper target than a block of salt that dissolves in water like a bullet in space
like my fingers would in acid, peeling off the skin my life force has worked so hard to replenish every day you strip it away and I let you like I’m shackled to a table
I dissolve like your words would in my garden
and they would destroy every last speck of green for miles around.