Silk frays too

*A poem about the fraying effects of cutting ties*

Cutting ties feels oddly amazing
Especially when the scissors were already moving
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For my hands are no longer sore
My fingers aren't shaking as they grip the handle
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They're not even trying to catch the string as it hits the floor
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Because this was the kind of tie that left me wound in a ball
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Tangled, strands fraying, breaking like bread
This was the kind of tie that couldn't be retied
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Because of how many times you pulled on each strand and didn't even let it recoil
Because of how many times you tied me up into a bow only to untie me again
Until the very act bored you
Because of how many times you acted like you cared if I was fraying or not
When in reality you were the one ripping me apart in the first place
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At first you gently caressed my soft edges
You made me feel Iike I was worth untangling
Like I was the type of cashmere worth preserving, protecting, and stroking
Like I was the softest you had ever discovered
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But then slowly you made me feel like all I was to you was a wound pile of wool
Wool that had been rained on, clawed at, rejected
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You strung me along,
weaving me between your fingers
Cats- cradling my feelings as you prioritized your own
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The irony of it all is I didn't even realize this was a game
Until you slowly stopped playing it
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But there will be no rematches
Because even though I refuse to play games
I sure as hell know how to end them.
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~I am my own silk~