It does not mean I stopped

When the boy asked to leave
I held the door open;
hands trembling

I will not wear my pain
like a lousy blouse with loose threads
Neatly, I cut him off

It does not mean
I stopped loving the boy
It means I love the boy
enough to know that
he will unravel me if I let him

I am the girl with the scissors
I am the girl trying not to cut
her flesh open

here to serve some passive aggressive poems
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