I am probably more tired now,
than I have ever been.
It doesn’t consume me,
but it’s a constant reminder
that a woman like me
should never feel this way.
I’ve resigned from writing about you a million times over,
yet here I am again.
Instead of fighting the urge to spill the contents of my heart
onto pieces of paper,
I’ve continued to let them pour.
Still, I simply wish that my inclination to do so
fades away –
just like your love for me.
written May 11, 2019.
I lay beside your memory at night,
which is why it’s so hard for me to get up in the morning.
I think of all the times I slept in your bed,
and wonder if you ever think of me when no one is there to hog the covers.
God, I hate this part the most.
You’re everywhere, in everything.
I don’t want to press “pause”
because the pain just needs to stop altogether.
I’m disgusted that our ending
has me questioning if what we had was even real.
Were our feelings truly the same,
or did you love me like those other guys that call themselves men?
You’re not worried about me;
you can’t be.
You’re unscathed, and that’s okay.
It is through this tragedy,
that I am able to birth the beautifully crafted story
of how you destroyed me from the inside out,
and stomped my soul into smithereens.
written February 3, 2017.