Jonathan Phelps | + Follow Poet |
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Collateral Damage

I come with cracks you can't see at first—
Hairline fractures from love turned curse.
Each “I love you” I gave was a losing bet,
Now I cash out in shame and cigarette.

I’m broke—not just wallet, but soul and pride,
A man half-standing with nowhere to hide.
I lean too hard on the one still near,
Drowning in love, suffocating with fear.

You're the calm, the grace, the outstretched hand,
And I—I’m a landslide you can’t withstand.
I cling when I should hold space and grow,
Turn warmth to weight, too scared to let go.

I call it love, but it's need disguised—
A hunger formed from years of lies.
The past carved holes I never filled,
Now I feed them smoke, and whiskey spilled.

I see you strain, I hear your sigh—
You carry my storm while I just cry.
I should be your peace, your man, your shield,
But I’m the wound you’re forced to heal.

I'm sorry for the guilt I dress as charm,
For kissing your lips while sounding alarms.
For the tantrums masked as moments of pain,
Then pretending I’m fine and doing it again.

It's hard to admit—I’m the problem, the mess,
The echo of love that’s lost its finesse.
But I’m tired of hiding behind these vices,
Of trading realness for cheap sacrifices.

I want to be more than this damaged frame,
To stop using you to smother my shame.
But first I must face the man I’ve become,
And own the silence I've tried to outrun.

So if you ever leave, please know it’s fair—
You gave your all, I gave my despair.
But if you're still here, and willing to see,
I’m not asking for saving… just patience with me.

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