Sometimes

I can’t imagine you’d love the part of me
that reacts too late and snaps at something that has passed.
How my mood can be a day of silence, aching to be alone.
Nine bottles later and an anger you can’t ignore.
You haven’t seen me cry
(because there hasn’t been reason)
but it’s the shake I can’t control.
Sometimes I’ll miss you so much I’ll motivate a fight.
I don’t think you’d respond, but I’d stand my ground with defense
and stubbornness.
You’ll call me pretty when I need to hear it most,
but I’ll tell myself otherwise.
I’ll be my worst enemy
and you’ll feel helpless.