You broke me.

You turned me
into this psychotic little girl
who makes fake accounts on websites
just to talk to you again.
Sorry
but that character had to die
I’m afraid I am not irrepairable.

You convinced me of my jealousy.
Made me consider myself
paranoid beyond hope or care
wretching myself.
Sorry
but I am not so brittle
I’m afraid I am not your project.

You held me to you.
So reliant was I on your hands
that without them mine seemed fingerless
and uncoordinated.
Sorry
but I am not so anonymous
as to let you make me conscious.

You left interrupted.
Midnight phone call woke me
to the sound of your quivering voice telling me
you loved another.
Sorry
but I can’t accept you had nothing for me
except pity and vented hate.

You ruined me.
For a while at least
I never let myself forget your voice
or the hope you gave me.
Sorry
and I truly am this time because I am better
without you.
Better for not having you.

And you will not define me.