Recycle

reduce me

to the smallest parts of myself

cut down to size by your

silver tongue.

reuse

whatever’s left

for your own benefit.

try to remake me

make me fit

in the same shiny mold

you always use

but it keeps leaving

rough edges

there’s still too much of me

left.

So you wash your hands clean

in gaslight

lathered with lies

that could be popped

like suds

if I had the energy

to stroke your ego

with boar bristles

but it’s a long climb up there

If I jumped from atop

how high your saddle

I’d crumple like a tin can

in the shallow

of your emotional IQ

So we just continue

to rinse, repeat,

and

recycle.