Minefield

I am a minefield

at your hands.

Buried mines

in mine —

and you can’t seem to understand

why I’m a mess.

Tiptoe cautious,

I’m just as surprised when one goes off.

There is no map;

I guess with each step,

still healing from the last,

only theoretically prepared for the next.

And you- the audacity-

to actually

be mad at me

when I react

to a bomb you set.