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A Bitter Taste

Even when

we ourselves do not hold

that box full,

others hold their own,

adding new and stunning pieces

colored by the others,

colored by remembrance,

held so tightly

within their arms,

blocking the heart,

blurring truth.

Unhealed wounds—

they can’t see past that line;

they view it as if it’s a crime

against them.

Their words, begrudgingly clear,

as tit is thrown at tat—

that box is full with that,

and the label screams,

in colorful tones:

…Resentment.