I am an emotional rag doll.

5th draft, will finish later.

You are the re-appearing, ripe 
violet bruises
on the underside of my thighs; 
the type of nuisance that
slips minds.

I should have learned.

I want to toss you
in the back
of my closet
like a pair of old shoes,
or dirty socks,
and the rest of my skeletons.

I don’t want to notice
when I throw you
away.