The Difference Between Us

 

He kissed my ribs
With his fingertips.


But everything changes,
And like the grit
Under the nails he bit,
I was nothing;
And used,
And dirt
When he was finished.

Quite easily forgotten,
Like the dead parts of you
That accumulate.
The parts you don't really need.

I was the dried blood
Beneath his nails.
The alcoholic stains
Inside his mattress
That no one really
Bothers to treat,
But rather let fade
Until it is only a faint scent,
A whisper of who you
Were ten years ago.


And I guess the real
question is:
Do you forgive
yourself
or
forgive the people
who made you
how you are?