It has been exactly three weeks,
since the day I decided you were
no longer to my liking.
And just last night,
I finally decided it was time,
to cleanse my living spaces,
free them of the paraphernalia
of our, so-called love.

Three hoodies, a T'shirt.
Stuffed animals. A black fitted NY hat.
Two rings, a necklace.
The cross from your communion,
which I dented once,
testing its quality.
It's funny how things,
can look like the purest gold,
and flex like a simple copper.
Simple irony, to which we held true.

I can no longer listen to music,
without thinking of you.
Without comparing our problems,
to the melodies of the newest country songs.
But they're not our problems anymore.
I'm just dwelling on the past,
in order to stop the process of change.
In mid clean-up, I realize this.

I threw what ever remained,
of our past in the box,
and left the room.
Choked up by the mere thought,
of missing anything related to us.

One day you'll simply be a story line,
in the plot of my complicated teen years.
But until then, I'm happy with forgetting you.
One of these days, I'll be able to,
simply ship that ******* box back to you,
without a second thought,
but until then it will hide in my closet,
while the memories ferment,
in the back of my mind.

Thinking is no longer easy,
for all that runs through my mind,
is all that you took, so easily.
So greedily, you picked every petal,
off the flower of my innocence.
And I regret it.

But never once did I tell you no,
because I started to believe,
that love granted the right to take,
so I traded the most intimate
parts of myself for love,
and never spoke a word when
you felt the need to delve into me,
only let heavy breathing
replace gentle heart,
and I was only a young thing.
Didn't know how it felt to be taken
for granted. But I learned.
Quite quickly.

It got to a point where there was,
absolutely no indication.
No questions asked.
Your callused hands simply took,
what you made me believe
was rightfully yours.
And it hurt to think that
I was a piece of property.
But I let it go on because I was
afraid if I didn't,
you'd find someone who would.

One day you finally took too much.
And I finally let go,
of what I thought was love.
I let go because love isn't greedy.
Love is gentle and kind,
and it waits, until you're ready.
Ready to free the parts
of your soul that you thought
could never be touched.
I was naive.
Letting you take so much of me,
it left me wounded.
Now all that's left of you,

a scar strategically placed on my heart.

Peaceful, yet haunting.
Thinking of all the souls, they wander.
beneath my feet sit the bodies,
in which they once used as vessels.

All the lives, lived.
Yet some wasted.
So many pieces of stone,
held down by earth, on which,
we have all walked.
All wished to see more of.
But yet most of us,
haven't sought out the things,
outside of our comfort zones.

Cars pass by, slowly.
seeking out the names,
of whom they hold dear.
Of whom who have told stories,
and touched souls.
Only to then move on,
and let them wish for
just another second,
of the presence of the person,
who they had to let go.

The strong sense of presence
follows me,
as the leaves and dead bark,
crunch under my feet.
It's slightly depressing. But calm.
The earth around me so alive.
Yet this presence, is something less.
I feel myself being entwined,
with the ever growing sadness.
And for now I know,
I have had enough of death.

It's time to join the living yet again.

Coffee stains
my taste buds,
and I try to turn it
into something
beautiful.
Something,
worth recognizing,
for I myself,
am simply nothing.

A cheap imitation,
of what I could be,
always striving
but never reaching,
what others find
to be so easily
obtained.

Tell me again,
how I'm not good enough.
Tell me again,
how I must strive to be better,
in order to be accepted
not only by the best colleges,
but also by my peers.

No one likes a stupid girl, right?

I'll bring home a B as a final grade,
but you'll stick me in tutoring anyway,
Because of what a test grade has to say.
Is this encouragement?
Or is it simply what you're using,
to mask the disappointment?

Don't think I can't see it.
You're saying with a smile,
that this will be good for me,
but in reality, you think I need it,
just to get by.

Tell me again
to try harder.
Just signal me with your eyes!
I don't need you to voice it.

Tell me again
Tell me, over and over,
and over again.
And with every time you voice your opinion,
I'll scream louder,
I know.

I know I am not good enough.

One day I will lose my voice telling you.