One day I will meet a man
worthy of an uplifting poem.

I will use the kindest of words
I've never before spoken.

He'll make me rethink the sadness
that's always dripped from my pen.

And make me forget about this heartache
that has become so entrenched.

Grazing my fingers
up and down your back

Abusing your body
as a means to distract

The longer you wait,
the more I grow eager

Breaking your flesh
as I dig my nails deeper

As you enter my body,
I place your hands on my throat

Begging for pressure
as a way to cope

Experiencing pain
reminds me I'm alive

A way to counteract this lifelessness
I feel inside

One thing is for certain-

I do not miss you.

Even on my lowest days,

surrounded by solitude.

Because there are far worse things

than being alone.

Like living in misery

and calling it a home.

I’ve experienced it so many times before-

That moment when sadness turns to anger,
disappointment into mere frustration.

No longer concerned about a text back

or that long-awaited dinner invitation.

Because when you start to accept

that you simply care more than they do,

you can begin to recover what’s left

of your sanity and self-value.

Maybe I should have foreseen
the way our story would unfold.

Reciting vows we did not script-
the most fictitious tale ever told.

You always said I had no passion.

You said it so many times, it became ingrained.

Perhaps if I had discovered poetry while we were together,

perhaps then you would have stayed.

Or maybe this is how it was meant to be.

Maybe it was you that I was meant to lose.

So I could discover this zealousness inside of me.

So I could make you my muse.

It’s a difficult thing for me to explain-

Being overly emotional
yet unable to express my feelings.

Like being in a room quickly filling with smoke-
I could open a window,

but I instead choose to choke.