I think...

this might be... i hate to say it... the end. or maybe a caesura in the poem that is my life. i've lost my identity and i need it back... there's only one way that i know how to get it back, but it's something i don't want to do.
a normal person would be okay,
but i'm needy and dependent...
and what i NEED is to not have to be that way...
and the only way I can think of achieving this means is eliminating what i am dependent on.
but i don't have the guts or the heart.
i couldn't possibly ever do it.
so i just write about it instead.
i know i'm just angry and attention starved. the moment that he looks at me with his puppy eyes, i'll have no choice but to forgive him...

but i have to say this:
it's too much being mad at him everyday.

and if i think about everything too much, i'm going to start to regret.
i just miss myself...
where did i go?
and will i ever find myself again?