Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
There was beauty in the way he hurt me.
So I found others love to be ugly.

The sweet, sinful daggers he used to degrade me
I wore like a suit of armor that protected me from the world.

Now I stand in the mirror looking at the suit made of thorns
Tattered and broken
To match the remains of my heart he forgot to take with him.
I close my eyes and open them again
Waiting for this nightmare to end.
To end.
To end.
Start over.

Now I stand in my bedroom.
I am naked.
Revealed.
Hidden only from the world outside these four walls.
I closed my eyes, but did not open them,
Rubbing my hands along the hills and dips in my skin
The mountain ridges of scars
And counted every rib that felt like bars
Sealing me within myself when I just wanted to escape!

There was pain in the way he loved me,
Leaving an unfeasible idea of me loving myself.

Cause every morning I wake up and I say
“You can do it!
You don’t have to conquer Everest in a day,
But you are strong enough to get half way there!
You can do it!
Just live!
Keep breathing even when oxygen becomes so heavy your lungs collapse under the pressure.”

But then I’m standing in the mirror.
Or I’m standing in my bedroom.
Naked and broken.
Tattered and ashamed.
Tears carve their ways down my face and each drop lightly pecking the upward pointing corners of my mouth.

I wonder if he can still feel my world shake.
Because if somewhere in the world a butterfly can do the only thing they know how
And create hurricanes,
Why can't the slight tremble of my lips as I force them into a smile to prove that “I’m okay.” —
Why can’t that cause mountains to shake
And walls to crumble?
Why is it that only I fall apart?

There was destruction in the way he left me.
 Apr 2017 Isha Natsu
ab
dear you,

she's not sure why
she even still brings it up
in her own head
because you are long gone by now

but she stopped falling for your tricks
a very long time ago.

she doesn't understand why
you were so demanding
of her time
and attention.

you were the knife against her throat,
and because she was afraid,
she went with you.

you were the only one on the other end
of the electric wire.
and because she felt powerless,
she let herself get electrocuted.

all she knew you for
was a photograph,
a username,
a mutual friend.

but you seemed to be a ghost
in her head,

unseen but persistent.

you hijacked your way
into the skin behind her ears,
and laughed when she heard
but couldn't see
you.

and when she finally had the courage
to shut you down,

you made her question
her own sanity and existence.
because of your
insecurities.

she can never forgive you
for that.

so dear you,

if she ever sees you walking
down the street
with a smile
painted in yellow
and green
and purple,

she will not approach you.

she will simply clasp her friend's hand tighter,
smile sweetly,
and add
a little
blue.
~stay away from Franklin Street
And so I was foolish enough to believe that I knew everything
At least about this one thing
That you and I were destined for something greater then anything I had ever dreamed,
That your high rise state of mind would ballance out my desire to settle,
I would love with a ferocity I had never shown in anything
I would hold one truth apparent above all others that life would be lived not as one but two,
And I had the ring to prove it,
I guess we'll never know which knee to bend down first
Because life isn't always fair and it isn't everyone who cares,
And I wish I had the depth of character and the state of mind to climb outside of the walls my mind has hid behind,
It's a terrifying place to be at this time of night.
And it's these truths I hold to be evident in light of the current circumstances,
Love is a sham,
I've said it before and I'll say it again
Love is the most destructive force known to man.
 Apr 2016 Isha Natsu
Syd
I am sitting across from you in a small diner booth over two cups of coffee that neither of us are drinking. you can't drink because you're too busy talking and I can't drink because my mouth has been frozen shut ever since we walked through the door. this silence feels more familiar than you do anymore. and when did you start ordering coffee? when did I? who are we now and how did we get here? how did it come to this? how did we let it come to this? how many nights did you spend fighting sleep because you couldn't stop thinking of me, wondering how I was doing or if I'd managed to stitch myself back together yet. how many nights. your mouth is still moving but I'm unable to hear what it is that you're saying. these words don't matter. they hold no weight at all. now you're apologizing. for what, I want to ask, but there are a million and one things you have to be sorry for, none of which you are. instead of I'm sorry it was always it's a joke, lighten up or you know I didn't mean it. I know. you didn't mean anything you said to me. I guess I'm crying now because your hand is reaching over the table to touch my cheek and your eyes are doing the thing where you look completely caught off guard. not sympathetic, just confused. I can't remember why we came here. why did we come here? how long has it been? you look different now, distant and not in love with me anymore. I don't like this view. I want to ask you if we can go back. you wouldn't know what I mean. you never do. did. sorry. I love you. I want to grab you by your shoulders and shout into your soul that I love you - that I've always loved you - that I never stopped and I never will. what are we doing here? then it happens. you reach for your pocket and my heart stops inside my chest as you extract the black box. the people around us probably think this is a proposal. I know better. your mouth moves again and your lips frame her name and the date and you're sorry but I'm not invited. and everything stops. it was supposed to be me. my white dress and your black tie and my father's hands shaking yours and my mother fixing my veil and my walk down the aisle and your vows in my ear. mine. my dress my day my church my life my you. you're saying you are sorry but you're not. it's something else. it's guilt. it's regret. it's the fact that we both know this is not how things were supposed to end up but here we are. cold cups of coffee and empty hearts. how did this happen how did we get here how did it come to this how
how did we let it come to this
I do, even if you don't

— The End —