Threadbare Mercy

The mercy I gave you  

was already worn thin—  

a tired kind of kindness  

I’d patched together  

from years of holding myself together  

when no one else did.  

You didn’t notice that.  

You just tugged at it,  

pulled at the loose places,  

testing how much of me  

you could take  

before I finally said stop.  

And when it all came apart—  

that small, fragile softness—  

you looked at me  

like the breaking was my fault.  

Still, I tried to gather what was left,  

tried to wrap you in it,  

tried to make warmth  

out of something  

that was already falling apart in my hands.  

I should’ve saved it—  

that threadbare mercy—  

for the younger version of me  

who never got enough of it  

to begin with.

-𝕃ℝ 🖤