My glass was already filled to the rim, And you decided to drop a stone in. I was already weathering a heavy storm, When you kicked the front door open. I didn't have a mystical gut feeling warning me from the start, I just had a clear mind—and a tired, broken heart. I am so weary of being the one who always has to be sharp. You texted me beautiful philosophies typed by a stranger's hands, Told me I was avoiding life, running from love's demands. But how do you talk about the fear of loss, When you never even risked your own name? You judged my boundaries from behind a wall of stolen pixels, Hiding in the checkout aisle of someone else’s face. You asked for my identity to "celebrate" a win, But threw a tantrum when I asked to see who was within. You called it an argument, said I "pulled one" on you, Because logic demands the light, and you only thrive in the blue. So I took the marker. I drew a thick black line across my numbers, Left the barcode blank, kept my safety while you kept your mask. You said you respected how I form my trust, But left the heavy lifting to the dust. Turning off your camera doesn't make you deep, It just means you have secrets you're too afraid to keep. That wasn't a defect keeping me safe— It was a black marker, a sharp mind, and a clean break.
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