I deleted the pieces of myself I created for other people
and replaced them instead with ones I thought people expected of me.
I went from a fragile, watered down, diluted version of myself
to a scrapbook of traits, none of which are my own.
Swapped a severed tongue for one doused in liquid slander.
Traded my days and nights alone for every minute occupied by someone, something.
You wouldn’t even recognize me as an introvert anymore, at least from a distance.
Or maybe you would.
My social battery still has a low life.
That’s one thing I’m certain will never change.
While I no longer have his hands around my neck, the air I chose to breathe is often toxic.
My head may no longer be perpetually shifted to the floor, but it instead meets browns and blues with false eyes each time.
Maybe it’s just that old habits die hard
but I am not who I used to be
and I’m not sure I am any better.