Poem: Spilled Milk

I’ve never been one to cry
At milk puddled on the linoleum.
I’ve never been one to flinch
At an impending slap.
But with you around I try
To not be as flammable as petroleum,
As volatile as a mob waiting to lynch
The man who stumbled, unsuspecting, into the trap.

Around you, I melt to pieces in a way
That ants melt under a magnifying glass,
Innocent, unnoticed, and eventually, unmoving,
Unlike a popsicle dripping on a hot, summers day,
I’m destroyed at once, like the third class,
Trapped under the decks of the Titanic,
Unable to escape.

Around you, I’m not me.
I’m a shackled version of sanity.
A contorted idea of what you want.
But even then, it’s not enough.

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