Shut It

It’s like a neglected wound.
Most of the time I forget that it’s there,
but when I remember,
it’s like I got cut all over again.

To feel it is to be reminded that I was left:
as if I never mattered,
as if I don’t exist.
To feel it is to know that love will never be enough,
and that words dissolve right after they’re spoken.

So if you love me like you say you do,
show it by staying.
And if you ever leave,
be sure to shut the door.

written July 7, 2017.

3:00 AM

I used to like the pain,
now I want anything to numb it.
These days have passed by so quickly,
yet they seem to last so long.

I haven’t talked to you in quite some time now.
Finality has a weird kind of ring to it.
I can’t forget your smile,
but his has got me hooked.

No need for sorry - I’ve forgiven you already.
You’re out of sight, but remain at the edges of my mind.
You rest in regret, while I rest in relief.
I’ll be sure to send my love through silence.

written June 7, 2017.

Westworld

I am transformed on a daily basis.
Painted, poked, prodded and primped.
My entire being is a clean slate
that is constantly reinvented for your viewing.

An array of emotions are conveyed on camera,
but are they mine or my public persona’s?
Sometimes I’m unsure myself.

I am an actress, a muse, a maniac of sorts.
Far from perfect, yet the ideology is what drives the vision.

When I step in front of the lens,
am I stepping into freedom or entrapment?
Is it me who’s in control,
or those that move me from “start” to “finish?”

No one on this Earth is as isolated as they may think.
There is always someone or something causing you
to think the way you think,
and to act the way you act.

Are we artists,
or are we puppets?
Maybe it’s a mixture of both.
A touch can turn into a transfer of toxins.
Be mindful of whose hands are molding you.

written May 25, 2017.

Silly Little Tears

You told me not to fall for you.
You told me that I deserve better. 
You told me that you love me 
and that you want what is best for me.
It had been made clear that what was best,
wasn’t you.

Yet, you’re here,
with your tie undone and your eyes glossed over,
wondering if the man who’s waiting for me at the bar is mine. 
You ran in your expensive suit and designer shoes
to tell me that you hope it isn’t true: 
that I could have possibly moved on.

You’re standing in front of me,
like a puppy with its tail in between its legs.
I’ve never seen you look so weary.
I’ve never seen you look so lost.

“I have a boyfriend now,” I say. 
And before I can continue, your lips are trembling and tears are falling.
I’ve never seen you cry;
I never thought you could.

I’m in awe. 
It took years for us to end and even longer for me to recover.
My heart called out your name countless times, yet you refused to listen.
You waited until the man of my dreams took your place,
before you even considered trying to get it back.

So, why are you hurting?
You willingly made room for someone else to give me the world,
the moment you decided we would never have one.

written March 15, 2017.

Halfway

Sometimes, he would hurt me.
Sometimes, I would like it. 
Most times, I didn’t.
And when he would hold me,
it was because he wanted me held captive,
not because he cared.

When I cry, my tears are shed for the younger me,
who had hands in between her legs that didn’t belong there,
who was forced to trade in her childhood for maturation,
and became an adult long before she turned 18.

I don’t want you to wipe my slate clean,
in case you were wondering.
You can’t.
But I was hoping that I could start a new one with you. 
I could give you the love that you’ve been craving,
and you could render the kind that I’ve never received.

Can you do that?
Can you hold all of my broken pieces,
careful not to mix them with your own?
Can you cradle my heart without cutting your hands? 
Can you carry me when my feet are dragging so heavily,
that they begin to slow yours down too?

We understand each other in ways that our formers never could;
we adore the parts of ourselves that they didn’t want. 
Now, we’re presented an opportunity to become the type of people
that we never had.

So, what do you say?
Would you like to meet halfway? 
We deserve a “forever” too. 
I can’t make you whole,
but I’ll vow to make you better.
Just promise that by the time our ending arrives,
you will have done the same for me.

written March 10, 2017.

The Ending

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.

Six Months to Life

You ask me how I did it:
how I made an extremely difficult process look so easy.
You don’t know that it was excruciating from the start,
and that I’m nowhere near finished.

I had to remove the one person I wanted for the rest of my life,
from my life.
I had to detach myself from a part of my soul.
It started with one day, that turned into one week,
which turned into one month,
and before I knew it, I reached half of a year.

I haven’t coped,
I’ve just kept myself busy.
But those moments when I’m alone,
all of the memories rush to my head at once.

I want to tell him that my hands are sore from working such a long shift,
and that I’m coming over for chips and salsa.
I want to tell him all the good news about my day,
and how I’m evolving into the woman we both want me to become.

I may look like I’m okay, 
distancing myself from the one I love. 
But the truth is, in this sixth month,
I still want him,
just as much as I did on the day I decided to let him go.

written February 2, 2017.

Heal

Sometimes, 
I want to force my feet onto the floor
so that I can make my way out of bed. 
I envision myself heading to the bathroom
so that I can brush my teeth, 
shower, and start my day.

But most times, 
I don’t move.
If I do, it might be to eat,
or to get some more tissues. 

It’s not always the worst thing,
to lay here.
My memory works well, 
and because of that, 
I can write to relieve the thoughts 
that overtake me. 

That way, when I think of us kissing, 
I ache a little less. 
I wrap my arms around myself and 
get used to not having yours.

Today, 
I’m going to throw out my graduation and birthday cards;
even the handwritten card I never gave to you.
They’re all just reminders that I don’t need. 
As I mentioned before, I have enough.

Today, 
I’m not mad at myself for feeling the way that I do. 
There is no shame, or guilt, or denial. 
I’m allowing this recovery to take its course. 
I love you with all of me, 
so all of me must heal.

written January 24, 2017.

Another "Morning After"

I can barely open my eyes.
Do I even want to?
Regret has spilled onto the sheets,
and sorrow has seeped into my pillow.

When you left this morning, 
I hope you took all of my feelings with you,
but I’m sure that you dismissed them,
because you do the same to yours.

I don’t know how we came to this point,
where we keep giving and giving, just to have nothing at all. 
Maybe we like watering what died a long time ago.
Maybe it’s because we hate the sound of goodbye.

written January 16, 2017.

The Game

I said that the last time would be the last time
on countless occasions. 
I keep giving and you keep taking,
because you’ll never say no.

You know what I’m worth, 
and you know what you’d be missing,
should I truly follow through with leaving you behind. 

But you don’t care.
So we play this little game
where I leave the ball in your court,
knowing that it’s really in mine,
as we wait for the clock to run out. 

And when it does,
don’t go wondering what happened.
There will be no space or opportunity
to make up for all we could’ve had.  

The love is there, 
but our intentions are completely different.
You play for ego,
and I play for keeps.

written December 12, 2016.

For the First Time

There was a time when I didn’t want anyone’s arms
around me but my own. 
The thought of a man embracing me one moment
just to leave me in the long run, caused me to become reclusive. 
Then came you.

When you touched me, 
you told a story. 
Your hands meeting my skin
served as the segue into my soul.

Every crease, dip and curve  
were points for marking. 
You kissed my scars and traced my stretch marks.
You knew that my temple was my territory,
but you never made me feel like an object
for wanting to see what was inside.

Looking back, 
I’m not resentful. 
Tearful, but not resentful. 
I miss those moments, 
when a tickle turned into love making, 
and how you’d hold me through the night.

I’m not mad at you,
because for the first time in my life, 
it wasn’t just sex.
You felt me beyond the physical. 
You wanted more than just a release. 
You poured into me,
and exchanged your love for mine.

written November 8, 2016.

Heaven and Hell

I guess I wasn’t that mad while you were inside of me, huh?
I wanted to tell you how much I can’t stand you,
but I was silenced by your stroke.

You come to me with a full mouth and empty hands,
but I am so smitten by the words you string together
that I ignore what you lack.

You and I both know we have an expiration date;
one that I have to implement myself. 
I’ve stalled this departure way too many times.

We should’ve ended already,
but it’s not that hard to tell,
that I’m in love with your heaven,
and I’m in love with your hell.

written November 5, 2016.

Unpublished

I could write a book about what each tear means. 
I could, but I won’t. 
I don’t trust you enough to understand why I feel the way that I do. 
I don’t trust at all.

My pain is scattered between old news and current events. 
It’s written in these lines, 
painted on the walls of the buildings I used to reside,
and held in the hearts of men that said they loved me,
but never quite knew how.

Sometimes I think about all that I’ve been through and cry.
I think about what’s to come and I cry some more. 
I am far from sending a bullet through my skull, 
but my sadness runs deep. 
I am far from the woman that the public believes me to be. 
Right now I am small.

I could write a book about it. 
I could. But I won’t. 
I could write a book about it. 
But there’s nothing left to say.

written October 7, 2016.

Flashback

It started with a tub. 
There is no body of water deeper
than the destruction you put me in,
yet I found myself suffocating
in its warm stillness.

It ended with a kitchen. 
You were in a good mood when you came home.
Drunk, but not belligerent.  
Happy. Horny. 
You embraced me from behind as I washed the dishes. 
I felt safe again.

I don’t know what I did to make you angry.
I never really do. 
But in a fraction of a second,
you went from kissing me to almost killing me.

You struck me to the floor with a force so powerful,
the world itself must’ve shook. 
Blood spilled from my mouth as you peered down at me,
your eyes riddled with fury.

You pulled me up,
and in that moment I knew that if I fell to 
the floor again, 
I would remain there until a coroner came. 
You left me no choice.

I grabbed a knife from the counter 
and sent it straight into your side. 
I saw the darkness drain from your pupils,
and felt the beauty in ending your life.

As I laid you down onto the tile, 
gratification overcame me.
It’s like you always used to say, babe:
“You made a monster out of me.”

written November 3, 2016.

Right Now

Right now, I am free.
I am not concerned about what we are
or what we aren’t,
but simply what I feel in this very moment. 
And in this moment, I feel light. 

My laughter stems from the depths of my soul
and spills out into your space.
It intoxicates you.  
It coerces you into endless smiles and holding of hands and sloppy kisses.
It enables you to look at me in all of the ways you usually hide.

In this moment, you aren’t working,
and I’m not growing anxious over emails that never come. 
We are simply being. 

Your energy gravitates toward mine,
and they have a fine time together. 
Now I know what it means when they say
“What’s real doesn’t have to be explained.”

written September 9, 2016.

Never Say Enough

I still talk about you in present tense.
As I get dressed, I prepare to get scolded because of my outfit.
I get ready to downplay your discontent
and assure you that no pervert will have his way with me,
but that moment never comes.

When I crash on the couch,
I think about how I need to fold up the blanket
and neatly pile the pillowcases before you make your way down the stairs. 
I listen for your footsteps,
but I never hear them.

When I walk towards my room I glance into yours,
hoping to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, peering through your blinds,
but you’re never there.

No more beckoning me for silly things, or for nothing at all. 
No more inspecting my haircut when I come home from the barbershop. 
No more poking my thighs and asking about my weight. 
No more.

You left me so quickly. 
There was no build-up,
only signs, and heaviness in my spirit. 
You left me so quickly.
I could never say enough goodbyes.

written September 9, 2016.