You're not my home anymore
so why do I still defend you
like you offer shelter to me.
I censor the way you left me
over dinner with my friends.
I put parentheses
around my excuses
for your behavior
in my diary entries
in case you ever read them.
I don't tell my mother
you're the reason I'm crying
because I don't want her to develop
a bad taste for you
in her mouth.
We're history and
I'm trying to defend the ruins.