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?