I wasn’t who you made me,

I turned myself into that girl

who threaded her fingers

into the gaps between yours.

 

Lingered longer than should have

outside of cafes, and pocket shops,

between cobbles and walkways

where we strolled away afternoons

until the bus table declared enough

was enough.

 

She who returned whenever she could

because you made her feel wanted,

told her she could be

and would be if you weren’t

already taken.

 

Like I said,

she wasn’t her because of you.

I managed to make her all by myself.

Unmaking her was the part

I’m still learning how to do.

This is a poem I’ve written out a few times in various forms and never been quite happy with but tonight’s poetics prompt seemed like the perfect time to have another go at it. Still not sure I’ve got it right but I can always try again another day. Feedback as always is greatly appreciated if you have the time to spare.