Myself

I don’t really trust her.  
 
She never keeps her promises true,  
As if I'm unworthy of them.  
She says promises  
Should never be made  
If they’re not going to be kept,  
Yet she convinces me each time  
With empty assurances  
To trust her.  
 
How can I when it’s already in tatters?  
 
 
I don’t really respect her.  
 
She never keeps her boundaries intact,  
As if I'm unworthy of that.  
She wants to protect me  
When they’re crossed  
With muted hints,  
Yet she lets them be overstepped  
For the sake of fleeting sweetened words’ comfort  
To feed her bereft self.  
 
How can I when it’s already in tatters?  
 
 
I really pity her.  
I really pity me.  
Myself.