The first time I told myself

that I didn’t care about you anymore

I took a cleaver to the connective tissue

of our friendship,

sundered every tenuous attachment

with such ruthlessness

the actions of a madwoman, grieving

Did I think no one would see who I was?

Who I am?

Or was I afraid because you did see,

so certain of rejection

that I broke everything first

before you could break me

before I could be broken?