who broke this window?

my mother asked,

"it wasn't me" a young alice replied,

"who left the milk out?"

my mother yelled

yet again

young alice replied "it wasn't me"

it was,

it was me.

i never admitted it, not because i didn't believe it was me, not because i didn't know

nut because i feared the fact it was

the fear that i may hurt someone

i have hurt many people in my life

i always say it wasn't me

but,

then again, i never really feel like me

so i guess,

maybe,

in a way,

it was me.

its always me,

just,

not who i used to be.

a new me,

a fucked up,

selfish,

horrible,

version of me who is so so angry,

a version who cant place where this anger comes from

a person who is so consumed by this anger that they are no longer "me"

and yet they will always be "me"

and that person will never go away,

i guess there's a new me now,

i don't like her.

i don't like me.