i craved the fleeting warmth of her impossible kiss
     i still do
           i thought she hated me with my entire being;

yet i longed for nothing more for her to be draped over me
with tender touches and sweet sighs
instead of being held against my will,
as my unwilling, lovestruck body was dragged & pushed --
not lovingly embraced, desired, or cherished; just scorned.

i felt the weight of my arched ankles manipulated by her dainty, ballerina figure i worshiped
coupled with my gasping breaths wrapped around her fickle, faithless fingers,
and i ravenously called this love.

my brain started to rot,
with the thoughts that i dare not word,
the etchings and carvings of my trauma that i wish to never return,
and as life grips my throat,
the shaky breaths fail to escape my chapped lips,
drowning under the oceans anchored and below my sunken eyes,
with this weariness, i try to strive to see a world that loves me just the same,

and as my heart beats, falters, and persists,
despite all odds, determination fills my veins,
with aged scars, blackened burns, scarred scratches,
representing times i wish to forget,
the reminders are scorched into memories i like to pretend that never existed,
alongside the fact that my family did not foster a holy bond,

and, if any angels are near me,
them, as my witnesses,
can confide in that they only noticed spilled blood my own father admitted he never cared to see, the permanent cuts bound to my thick skin,
as i gazed into each slice,
wholeheartedly believing my blade would cut me from the ropes they ensnared upon my everloving entity

with the fury of the sun,
at the top of his tar-stained lungs,
he accused me of his premature death,
due to the stress of my illnesses he neglected to heal,
both still living with no regrets of the abuses he inflicted into my kin,
and the apple did not fall far from the tree,
similar sinisterness struck into my being
by the sinners i am expected to call my gracious home,

i am no angel,
and if god is cruel,
then you are the devil,

i am no savior,
no fallen child,
no messiah,
no hero from the stories that are my sanctuary,
just a wanderer, a journeyer, an existence that will cease,

and no matter who i am seen as,
and no matter how long i live,
and no matter my death date,
i will tell myself what you never will:
i am made of love,
i am made of light,
i am made of hope,
and i am a star that will never stop shining, even after my supernova
and as i become stardust, or rather dark matter,
the blurring of a century, if i am lucky enough, will fade into space,
and hopefully, if i am fortunate, another sweet, sincere, sorrowful soul will turn their eyes to the midnight sky,
and smile in the comfort that there is genuine happiness and beauty in this godforsaken world, even if it is lightyears away,
a keepsake of my soul, yearning my deepest desire, to be what i only hoped for anyone who so wishes,
though, especially endeared by those i love,
for i cannot gift it to myself, knowing the circumstances of life does not discriminate,
i want to love you forever,
but i cannot; our gravesites are as eventual as our smiles,
and, even, if for a moment,
couldn't it last forever...?

the existence of you should not strike fear into my still, beating heart
for you are not a product of the sins your brother's ****** hands carved,
yet, i cannot help, but recall the touch you and i miss, forced over my body and my mind, with the reminder of his suicide,
when i see your name;

and it may be that you feel his loss, once again,
or wish to forget how you solemnly shared with me,
in the halls where we cried until we were emptier,
and the edges of reality blurred into our tears,
with our shallow, shaky breaths,
that i was his closest confidant
when you see mine.

and i have whispered
as if you were near,
about how much i loved you
and everything that you hold dear,
yearning to hold you
and for you to love me too --

to the point that i forgot
how much it bled
to see you ooze with love
dripping from your saccharine lips
that sugar-coated the names of others
overlooking, while i was in sight
as i silently pleaded,
i do not want you to see me through the eyes of others
i want to be seen by you

and as i poured my heart
into letters,
messages,
stories,
sentiments,
and secret poetry,
adorned with your favorite chocolates
over the years,

the reality that pained me so much
was not that you did not love me
or that you never said so back
yet only to those i felt i lost to you,

it is that you could not bring yourself
to genuinely apologize or feel sorrow
for any excuses or explanations you had
in forgetting me, even after you said
you would be with me and embrace me,
only for me to see, time and time again,
how you valued others
in the tens and thousands of words
i have seen with my own eyes,
in a space you welcomed me in,
as i am no more than a thought that left your heart and head,
for that these are the words you neglected to return to me.

and i realized
i am loved;
and i am forgotten.