What made you turn around?

What shimmering thing from the melanin ground

Had you running quickly to my arms again?

I was already down, out from being used,

But still you found the nerve

To turn and face me.

You criticized me daily,

Served razors with a kiss on the cheek and an "atta boy."

Was I indebted to you?

Was I the carrot and you the stick,

Constantly stringing me along?

The nerve of you.

To gently place this list in my hands—

I never thought you soft,

The type to make amends for all the bad between us.

The good and the ugly steps,

All fine-printed, written in regret,

Gently placed on my hands.

These hands that still shake to this day:

Do you recall

When my back was against the walls,

So I shoved my fist in defense?

The walls couldn't break, but it broke

Something more.

I see it listed that you will never leave me for dead:

A monetary system you've envisioned that would save me from debt.

Policies dressed, razor-sharp,

Intricate text-styles woven for fashion

Covered the threats.

Honesty never was in your policy.

So turn around and face me.

Find the nerve to tell me

What's really going on.