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.