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Delia Barbanti

I tiptoed around the truth until
my fingers and toes went blue,
covering my cold feet with torn sheets
and sweaty palms.

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Unwavering stubbornness lingered in the air
between silent stares and clenched jaws,
until I broke;
singing the words sweetly into sighing breaths,
confessions tucked safely in your dreams
safe from this broken reality.

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You aren’t my first pretender,
but I’m a bad liar,
breaking through hollowed armor and false wishes
like a tidal wave made of hopeless romanticisms.

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I ripped the truth out of your chest
like a stubborn weed,
satisfied with the instant gratification,
unaware of the mess I made.