A never-ending pattern,
my own internal fight.
I get attached too easily,
pour my soul into others,
give them my all
and leave nothing for myself.

Maybe if I make them happy,
keep them safe,
they’ll stay this time.
Maybe for once,
I won’t be left
empty-handed,
rebuilding again.

A never-ending pattern,
my own quiet war.
Maybe if I give enough,
they’ll finally like me.
Maybe I’ll finally be loved
without having to beg.
Maybe I’ll finally be wanted
without having to bribe.

Until then, my pattern of destruction continues.
Demolishing my own foundation
just to furnish others.
Turning myself into shelter
for people who never intended to stay.

I attach too easily,
too quickly.
I try so hard to fix others,
forgetting I’m just as broken,
just as alone.

I get excited too easily,
too quickly.
I try so hard to hold onto others,
but they always leave.
And I’m left there,
demolished by my own bricks,
heartbroken and crumbled,
because I let it happen again.

But even in the rubble,
I ignore the caution signs
because some part of me still hopes.
She always has.
And she always will.