I Think I Hate You

I'm scared you soured me
Lemon juice and buttermilk
Your face brings pangs
of fear
anger
desire
guilt.

I'm scared I'm soured
Fruit left out in the heat
growing new life
but no longer wanted
regardless.

I cannot recall the last time I felt fresh
not maxi pads or batches of cookies
but unknowing
ignorant
and full of possibility
without the awareness
that age
hurt
and heartbreak brings.

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