Your personality stinks,
like farts and chapstick mixed
into the stale, stagnant, predictable
air you carry with you.

I can’t get warm around you;
even in my finest fleece sweater,
even with my favorite knit hat,
even hidden beneath a million down blankets
that I will never share with you again.

I stopped taking ibuprofen in 2010
because I thought I could develop a tolerance to pain.
And it worked – sticks and stones are harmless now
except for sticks and stones like you.

I wonder if there is value in being vulnerable
or if fragility just makes me cheap.