I’m only used to being loved halfway.
I don’t remember what it feels like to be poured in, to the brim,
spilling over because my heart cannot hold all that’s been given.
I’m only used to being touched as an object, not as their one and only.
Men have used sex as a form of entitlement,
which showed me they thought I was worth penetrating,
but not worth protecting.
They brought me pleasure, but couldn’t bring me peace.
written March 24, 2018.
Let this be the last time that I look at you,
and the last time that my fingertips
trace the places
that yours used to roam.
I am grateful for every inch of our journey.
You were there for me through some of my most daunting moments.
You listened as I detailed the darkest parts of my pain,
and made sure that I would not let
its abyss swallow me whole.
You were the source of many smiles,
and the cause of many bloated bellies
from being wined and dined
all of those late nights in your home.
I’ll miss the laughter, and the singing,
and the dancing, and the cuddling.
I’ll miss the sweet splendor of how you
would sex me right to sleep,
just for me to wake up to the most delicate forehead kisses.
You were warmth, and humor, and savant, and style.
You were contradictory, and confusing, and hurtful, and proud.
You were so many things,
which is why I felt so many things,
and learned to be kinder to myself
as I unraveled your grip around my heart.
You complicated my most magnificent love,
and I’ve finally forgiven you for it.
My resentment has dissolved,
and the desire to see and speak to you
has finally gone away.
I am now okay
with not having you in my life anymore.
And although our time has come to an end,
my love for you has not.
Thank you, for everything.
Forever, your babygirl.
written January 1, 2019.