Your Resolution

My resolution?

There is nothing to resolve.

The wounds are still raw

And nothing will absolve 

Is that against the rules?

I know I’m supposed to change or have some sudden urge to splurge, cut the purge, and rearrange

But I’m still a fool.

I’m just me- an excuse I hate but perpetuate 

I’ll cut you out before I need to dissect and reflect 

My solution- embracing my delusion!

Accepting that I’m destined for sadness and confusion 

I can’t read anyone. I can only read myself

I see me for who I don't want to be: selfish and unwell.

Admitting isn’t quitting, I'm just being honest. So if you’re reading this, I'm deleting us. This is abolished.

I'm tired of every instance.

I'm tired of reminding you of my existence.

I’m tired of waiting for a phone call or an apology

I’m tired of you not being who I want you to be.

I can’t expect more, yet I always do.

So I must be free- I must freely hate you.

You’re the issue.

I don’t have a tissue 

That is my conclusion.

Happy new year!

Don’t come here!

That should be your resolution.