Your weight slowly lifts from me.
No longer suffocating— still heavy.
I actually want to thank you for breaking your last promise—
one of many.
It was the final crack
in the coffin that was my love for you.
It let in air and light— that I hadn't seen in a long time.
It broke my reality—
so I can build one that's just mine.
I actually want to thank you
for all your broken promises— so many.
You broke my heart open so I could taste the love that was my own.
You let down your disguise,
and I saw that every part I loved of you was gone.

I don't miss him right now.
He was a figment of my imagination.
So there's no reason to miss him.
I can visit him anytime.
He's just behind my eyes.
He was never there.

You've left a gaping wound in me.
I'm still measuring the hole.
When did you stop smiling at me?
How long did I know?

I was right,
I was right,
I was always right.
Why didn't I listen to myself the first time?

They've trained us not to listen to ourselves.
They prey on our generosity— we assume the best— for love.

I just want you to feel ashamed.
I only want you to regret hurting me.
That's the only thing you could give to me now.
If you ever cared for me at all,
which seems questionable at this point,
but if you did...

Could you please just give me the dignity of understanding exactly what it is that you have done?
Would you ever dare to feel, even for a moment, exactly how much pain you have caused?

I only want justice.
I only want there to be consequences for this betrayal.
I just want what is fair:
  an eye for an eye.
  a wound for a scar.
  a tear for my heart.

I'm not sure I have the strength to back up my bravery.

I was brave for you.
Brave in only the way a much younger version of myself could be.
I time traveled for you.
Only to realize that you wouldn't do the same for me.

So here I am.
And it's not as if I won't move on from here.
But it's not where I'm supposed to be.
Everything shifted.
And you were gone.

I was brave for you.
You didn't deserve it.

So here I am.

I used to lie in bed
and just think about you.
It was a pastime— my favorite one.
I still lie in bed
and think about you.
I just wish I could stop.
What was once heaven
has become a prison.

I feel trapped.
You left me here in a cage.
You told me to go, but you did not free me.
You remain stuck in my psyche.
But you are not here.
How can it be that you are in two places at once?
Here with me and there with her.
Why are you so cowardly?
How can she stand you?
...I know how she can.

I love being alone.
I find myself beautiful.
Somewhere along the way I learned
that I was not allowed to love myself.
I thought it vanity?
But I am beautiful.
I am capable of beautiful things.
I am capable of beautiful love.
And I refuse to not love myself— beautifully.
I am the only one truly deserving— unconditionally.
My love is mine.
It is earned— but freely given.
How terrible to try so hard to not love yourself.
How it must rip one into two.
No wounder I felt so alone— incomplete.
You cannot be yourself
while withholding your love
from its own source...

Every expression I make towards you is poetry.
Everything I've ever felt for you was poetry.
Don't you know that you're always reading my poems?
Have you not noticed my beauty— even once?
Were you really never stunned by me?
Impossible.
I shined so brightly for you.
But I was only ever the moon in your eyes (—the sun— remember?).
I stood before you— powerful.
It was a meeting of two equals— two goddesses— two lovers— two beings—
But I was wrong.
And you were weak.
Bow down before your queen.

I was always alone.
Is that the secret?
Or
I was never alone.
Or
There is no secret.
Is that it?

Were you never really here?
Or
You were right here
And you left anyway?
Or
You were right here
And you just never fucking saw me?
Is that it?

Truly
Righteous and godly
People surround me.

Why do I keep giving my heart to people who are so unworthy of my friends?

Why did I trust you?
Why did I trust him?
Who is he?
Did we ever even meet?

I don't know how to write
about you in the third person anymore.

Who is "he"?

He is gone.
You are nobody.

He is gone.
It's over.
He is gone. It's quite likely he was never here.

I loved you.
Loved— a verb— a struggle.

I love you still.
Love— a noun— a book.

You opened boxes,
but I smashed through buildings—
entire structures— neural pathways.

Undone— by us.
Undone— a falling with no end,
undone

I want you back so bad.
But you don't deserve me.
I need you to deserve me.
Please. Just try. Even a little.

Convince me.

Give me your grandmother's ring.
But mean it this time.

...But what if we were
meant to be lovers.
What if the world was made
for our love to move it.

...What if I just gave
a little bit more,
and it was enough for me?

I showed you yourself.
And when you didn't like what you saw
You ran away from me.

Is love supposed to hurt?
How much?
How often?