“You loved him.”
It wasn’t a question,
but I answered anyway.

I immediately became defensive,
scared of my past being brought up
and merged with my present.
I was doing so much better.
I couldn't afford to mess it all up now.

“I wouldn’t call it love.” I said,
when I wanted to say:

YESYESYESYESYES OH GOD YES



“Why?”
Perhaps they were genuinely curious.
They didn’t know, after all.
They didn’t know anything about
him, or me, or us.
And they never would.
I couldn’t let someone in, not now.

“It's complicated.” I said,
when I wanted to say:

IT'S SO SIMPLE

I LOVED HIM BECAUSE
HE MADE ME FEEL SOMETHING,
AND FEELING ANYTHING IS
BETTER THAN FEELING NOTHING

HE TAUGHT ME HOW TO LOVE WHEN
I COULDN’T EVEN LOVE MYSELF



“So why did it end?”
I could feel the walls
I built myself tumbling down.

I wanted to tell them,
I wanted to tell them everything.
I couldn't. I turned away.

“It didn't work out.” I said,
when I wanted to say:

I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED

I GAVE HIM EVERYTHING I WAS

AND I LET HIM TAKE
EVERYTHING I HAD

AND HE STILL WANTED MORE

IN THE END, I WASN'T

SMART ENOUGH

PRETTY ENOUGH

SKINNY ENOUGH

THICK ENOUGH

QUIET ENOUGH

BOSSY ENOUGH

CLASSY ENOUGH

SLUTTY ENOUGH

WILD ENOUGH

PRIVATE ENOUGH

ATTRACTIVE ENOUGH

HAPPY ENOUGH



NO MATTER WHAT DID,
I WASN'T ENOUGH