I locked up my heart
Like a prisoner
It was a tough decision,
Necessary though.

She stood at the pulpit,
Eyes swollen and red.
She'd been crying for months now
Tears of love no one cared to collect.

She begged for freedom,
To give out her love as she pleased
Said she was too full, she would implode
If kept contained too long

Myself, the judge
Looked at her with disdain.
She was not meant for fickle relationships,
Half-hearted promises and slippery hands that failed to hold all the love
She never stopped dishing out.

The gavel slammed and
I proclaimed her guilty.
She had murdered reason and
Set insanity free.
Her love had poisoned her body,
causing her rib cage to collapse at the smallest thoughts of him.
She overdosed on naivety
when she continued to pour
Her love into memories, long after he was
Gone.

The poor thing didn't stand a chance
She had to be put away.
Defeat and acceptance carried
her to her cell.
Anger and loneliness chained
Her up.

I locked up my heart
Like a prisoner.
And, although I know
The decision was apt,
I visit her sometimes.
Midnights when I start to wonder...

Some nights she is
Screaming and savage,
Hands gripping the metal bars.
Other times she's quietly
Weeping
In the corner.

You had me there for a second. Had me believing. Wanting. Aching. And then....breaking. You had me like no boy has before. You held more then my thrusting hips, my lustful lips, my hand wrapped in yours like you were scared I'd diss...appear.
'What more, what more is there?' - you cry

Well foolish boy, don't act so surprised.
Didn't they ever tell you in your Sunday school teachings, that the seeds you sow grow and grow, when you water them?
Maybe you missed that day since you saw no crime in taking your sweet time to plant your love deep inside my soul and you fed that garden come sunshine or cold. But come season for reaping, you were nowhere to be seen. You fled when you saw the beautiful monster that flourished.  You only wanted a garden and could not handle my forest. But enough about you leaving, let's talk about loving. Ah.
That is all we want to hear about isn't it?
The ones that made it. The fairytale endings. The moments you searched for hidden cameras 'cause reality was too, too perfect. You always said perfect like something bitter on your tongue. Like you weren't deservèd of it, your excuse being we're too young. But you said my name like it was your favourite song and each night you cursed the days for being so long,
dismal and futile when lacking my presence. You fought battles with my insecurities and made best friends with my hopes.  
You said, 'we got this, let's go'
And boy did I go. But your hands grew slippery, your lungs too weak. You could not keep up, but I'm not one for defeat.
Please know that I kept going, long after you let go. Please know that I kept growing, long after the cruel winter snow.
Please know that I love you,
but this is not a love poem.

Moving on is not trying to deny the pain it brings to your chest when you hear their name mentioned, but acknowledging that it's there and nothing can be done about it. Moving on is touching all the places they used to touch and accepting that you'll never forget the memories you made together, but knowing that you can't go back. It is finally not wanting to go back. Moving on doesn't happen overnight and moving on isn't a switch that turns your love for them off. It's learning that it's a light that will always be lit, even though you don't need it anymore, even though it's in the corner of the room - dim and gathering dust. It is looking back and saying 'I miss you, I will always miss you. But I don't need you anymore.' It's realizing that you never did need them. And it's being able to think about your future without crumbling to pieces when facing the fact that they're not going to be a part of it anymore. Moving on is a deep cut across your chest that has healed but bears a nasty scar. It is the difference between actually feeling the pain and the memory of the pain. Sometimes you can't tell which one is worse. And sometimes you think you're right where you started because you hear a certain song or you drive past the restaurant where you went on your first date and everything inside you just wants to go back to when everything was okay. Moving on is bittersweet. You can't bear to let go, those tender moments where you finally believed your heart had a home after all, it has become a part of you. But no matter how much you want to, you can't forget the nights you spent piecing the shattered bits of your heart together, through misty eyes and with shaky hands. So moving on is accepting that the bad parts overrule the oh so exquisite ones. And the love you felt for them will never be enough to overcome the pain that came after. It is choosing yourself, even though you want to choose them. That's it. Moving on is choosing yourself and believing that you deserve so much more than what they could ever give you.

If you had to climb inside my head tonight
You would find quite a mess
Of guilty confessions I haven't had the courage to admit.
Stay a while longer,
You'll catch the scent of regret and last night's alcohol
hanging heavily in the air.
You'll spot depression, somewhere in a dark corner, exiled and asleep (for now)
You'll find a fair amount of hopes and dreams, still waiting to come true
You'll probably find my deepest fears and gravest nightmares too
You'll find all the words I want to tell you
But don't have the courage to admit
There'll be memories boxed up real tight
And a loveless fireplace, waiting to be lit.

It was feeling everything and absolutely nothing simultaneously. It was the dam wall of my heart cracking slowly and then collapsing all at once. Hope came gushing out of everywhere and left my soul speechless and empty.  It felt like I couldn't quite place my feet firmly on the ground and I was floating away up and up out of my own body. I don't know how but I can see my crumpled face the moment he let me down once again. A mixture of hurt, confusion and an irreplaceable look of wonder that I can never quite get to leave my eyes when I look at him. It felt like a blindfold made out of duct tape was ripped off my face and for the first time I was looking at him and I didn't like what I was seeing. It hurt to look at him. I was meeting eyes with a stranger. A stranger that I knew and loved so well not too long ago. It was the feeling you get as soon as the roller coaster ride comes to an end. You're breathless and nauseous, heart beating outside your chest. Relieved it is finally over. It felt like the time I realized I didn't believe in God and cried myself to sleep for a week. All the water in my body was replaced by fire that night and now smoke permanently lingers in my veins. Realizing he was never coming back felt like someone was burning the home I grew up in to the ground and all I could do was watch. That someone was me.

You're not the you I know.
It's difficult to watch you these days. You've gained an air of arrogance
that fair enough, you've always had,
but you don't cover it up anymore.

You were never nice,
but you always cared.
Now,
your lack of sincerity
is painfully evident.

You were never reckless with your words, but always straightforward.
Now you say anything you can
Just to get a reaction.

We used to whisper over cracked phone lines -
"I miss you's" and "I'd do anything to have you here's"
Now we're occupying the same 2 square feet
And you can't even look me in the eye.

You're not the you I thought I knew
And I miss the old you quite a bit.
Maybe he's still in there somewhere
Or
This is the real you, and he who I loved
Is never coming back