I'm sorry I am broken,
But I am not your modern day simile,
I don't choose to compete,
I don't choose to check off the boxes
I am broken, different, and strong.

Does that scare you?
I am not your definition of beautiful,
  I am mine, and that is okay I choose to embrace my flaws.

in the middle of my madness,
on the edge of life,
darkest of my days,
3:00 a.m. no clue whether its day or night,
clinging to your photos , sobbing, pleading, snorting, pretending to live my life.
I took back my life,
I started accepting that you are gone,
no words, no moments, no tears
will bring you back. . .
I needed to stop dwelling,
for as I spiral out of control,
I can choose when to stop,
I can choose when to change,
I can choose sadness or happiness,
I call the shots,
they are my own,
there's no point in meeting again,
you are gone. . . I am here. . .
your memories are here. . .
I am strong,
   I cry,
       I loved,
I will learn to love again,
for the destination I choose to find, is not where I hope to meet.
I am here. . . I choose to live. . .

As he leaves, he takes his memory.
His ways of being, his current of emotions,
His sweet honeydew smell, his way of being goodbye
and never.

Still nights, the superficial,
,
Without noticing you went from him,
to it, to a thing.
polished thing.
Falling, slipping
crying, sweet anguish thing.
Sweet thing, trapped in captivity of the entrails,
of the knot already forever binded,
blinded from the sobbing, you lose yourself
sweet thing.

Until one day, another stops the pain.
Stops it, and reduces it to an annoying
voice, a mysterious touch, to a resurfaced polish.
Offered, given, taken,
sweet thing the hidden loneliness all but awaits,
you fail to feel its quake as you play the game again.

You give yourself to him,
        he takes and he takes,
             until your reflection is a stranger,
                                      a cheap, overly used, stranger.
  -He will n̶e̶v̶e̶r̶ love you.

The saddest thing in this world,
   is constantly being used by him,
       and continuing to play the game, you are going to l̶o̶s̶e̶.

We are born into this world to love,
Born to find it, lose it again and again,
in a reoccurring tune, like the phoenix each love must start anew.
So why am I b̶r̶o̶k̶e̶n̶? As I continue to ponder and long for you?