it began with eye contact,
it proceeded with a kiss.
turned into a mouth shut tight.
and a hand that didn’t want to write.
drowning in d e n i a l.
knowing very well it could only spew the truth:
the you i painted in poems,
a truth that would never exist.
it eventually resurfaced with pain.
piercing sadness masked with a burning anger.
it continued with pain.
it ended with only more poems.
but not of you,
of hope.
of love for myself.
for my strength.
for rescuing myself.
and for finally realizing
that you never could.
--
and yet here i am:
post-pain,
post-hatred,
post-you.
still writing poems about it.
just so that i can be free to feel something else.
there is still anger—
but only such that is reflected unto myself.
for trusting someone who never even earned it.
for loving someone who never even did.
i know now:
the poems i wrote about you
are better than you ever will be.
gave me more than you ever could.
a monster i painted as a savior.
one poem. at a time.
my words are pure,
& you could never take that away from me.
my words,
they only saw the best in you.
the small, minuscule sliver that shined brighter than the rest of you.
insignificant in theory.
but something my words could turn into beauty.
…painting you as everything i wanted you to be.
ignoring the thorns.
and the poison.
that you stuck me with.
which only grew stronger
and more prominent with time.
only to ultimately destroy me.
quieted my words.
because the sliver of you was now gone.
the thorns and the poison were all that were.
existing only to ultimately subdue me.
the savior finally revealed as a monster.
but i could not get out.
for three years you poisoned me.
dug your thorns into me deeper and deeper.
i was stuck and pricked so many times
my skin was permanently blood red,
covered in scars.
squeezing my bones
that could take no more.
shackled to a love that was never a love,
a person that was never a person.
a form of exile.
******* the beauty out of my name.
a voice that could only make my skin crawl.
my sense of trust ripped to shreds.
a trust that will never be the same.
but from horror,
from trauma,
from violence,
from pain,
i gave birth to strength.
manifested a jail cell
into intoxicating
freedom.