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AbbyslovePoems
I Broke My Own Heart First, That’s The Part No One Wants To Hear. I Did It Quietly, With Shaking Hands, With Words I Didn’t Say And Silences I Made. I Watched Something Alive Bleed Out Because I Didn’t Know How To Hold It. My Heart Doesn’t Ache Politely. It Clenches. It Locks Its Jaw Like It’s Bracing For Impact, Like If It Stays Tense Enough It Won’t Have To Feel The Moment It Caves In. It Feels Bruised From The Inside, Like It’s Been Gripped Too Hard For Too Long By The Ghost Of What I Ruined. I Told Myself I Moved On. I Practiced Forgetting The Way People Practice Lying— Repetition Until It Almost Sounds Real. I Folded My Emotions Down Small, Pressed Them Flat, Acted Detached, Indifferent, Unbothered. I Became Very Good At Pretending I Didn’t Care. And Then I Saw Him. Baggy Black Pants, Crosses Stitched Down The Legs Like Quiet Prayers. A Black And Purple Shirt, Like Bruises Learning How To Be Beautiful. His Hair—Blond, Longer Than I Remembered, Softer Somehow, Like Time Had Been Kinder To Him Than I Ever Was. I Didn’t Look At His Eyes. -His Beautiful Blue Eyes- That Was The Only Mercy I Gave Myself. Seeing Him Was A Reminder Of Everything That Was Once Good In My Life. I Wanted To Say, “I Still Have The Shoes Your Mom Gave Me.” But That’s A Strange Thing To Confess To Someone You Shattered. Part Of Me Hoped He’d Ask Why, That Way I Could Tell Him That They’re My Favorite Pair, That Inside Them There Are Tiny Roses, Vines- Curling Softly Where No One Ever Looks. But I Know I Shouldn’t Hope That He Would Talk To Me At All. I Shouldn’t Want Acknowledgment, Or Forgiveness, Or Even Permission To Exist In His World Again. I Shouldn’t Wish For Something That I Broke In The First Place. The Other Part Of Me Hoped He’d Stay Silent. Because The Truth Is, That’s A Question I Can’t Answer. Not To His Face. I Don’t Think I Could Answer Him— Not A Question, Not Small Talk, Not Even Goodbye. I Wish Someone Would Put This Puzzle Together. I Wish They Understood That When I Hear His Name I Don’t Flinch From Pain— I Wince From Regret. Because- I. Ruined. It. He Said Nothing To Me. I Said Nothing To Him. Instead, I Watched Him Almost Glide To The Door, Like The Ground Knew Him Better Than I Ever Did. And Just Like That— He Was Gone. And Thats I Realized Those Shoes Mean More To Me Than They Should. Not Because Of Who Gave Them To Me, But Because They Are The Only Part Of Me That Isn’t Actively Falling Apart. I Wear Them To Hopefully Remind Myself I Am Loved, Even Though All They Really Do Is Punish Me For Remembering. They Offer No Support. They Aren’t Made For Bad Backs Or Long Days. They Don’t Comfort Anything Except My Denial. Every Step In Them Reminds Me Of How Ignorant I Was, And How Carelessly I Threw Away Something That Would’ve Held Me Up. I’ve Tried To Buy New Shoes. But I Always End Up Back In These. Like Habit. Like Gravity. Like Punishment I Don’t Want to Interrupt. And Now The Truth I Tried To Forget Has Come Back Up— Not Loud, Not Dramatic, Just Leaking.. Softly From My Eyes, As If It Never Left- ..At All. Maybe- Maybe The Shoes Aren’t Just Shoes. Maybe They’re A Shape I Memorized. A Version Of Me I Still Step Into Even Though It Presses Wrong Now, Even Though It Leaves Marks I Pretend Not To Notice. And I Keep Asking Myself— Terrified, Naked In The Question— What Happens When I Grow Out Of Them? The Shoes His Mom Gave Me..? What Happens When The Real Cotton- Real Wear- Creases Where My Feet Bent Them To Fit A Life That No Longer Exists? What Happens When The Roses Inside Are Almost Gone, And The Vines Are Rubbed Thin By Time And Walking? I Know They Won’t Stretch Forever. They Won’t Wait For Me. And One Day, Whether I’m Ready Or Not, I’ll Have To Take Them Off— Not Because I’ve Healed, But Because Even Grief Has A Size Limit.
0
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 1:27 AM UTC
What No Longer Belongs To Me
I Broke My Own Heart First, That’s The Part No One Wants To Hear. I Did It Quietly, With Shaking Hands, With Words I Didn’t Say And Silences I Made. I Watched Something Alive Bleed Out Because I Didn’t Know How To Hold It. My Heart Doesn’t Ache Politely. It Clenches. It Locks Its Jaw Like It’s Bracing For Impact, Like If It Stays Tense Enough It Won’t Have To Feel The Moment It Caves In. It Feels Bruised From The Inside, Like It’s Been Gripped Too Hard For Too Long By The Ghost Of What I Ruined. I Told Myself I Moved On. I Practiced Forgetting The Way People Practice Lying— Repetition Until It Almost Sounds Real. I Folded My Emotions Down Small, Pressed Them Flat, Acted Detached, Indifferent, Unbothered. I Became Very Good At Pretending I Didn’t Care. And Then I Saw Him. Baggy Black Pants, Crosses Stitched Down The Legs Like Quiet Prayers. A Black And Purple Shirt, Like Bruises Learning How To Be Beautiful. His Hair—Blond, Longer Than I Remembered, Softer Somehow, Like Time Had Been Kinder To Him Than I Ever Was. I Didn’t Look At His Eyes. -His Beautiful Blue Eyes- That Was The Only Mercy I Gave Myself. Seeing Him Was A Reminder Of Everything That Was Once Good In My Life. I Wanted To Say, “I Still Have The Shoes Your Mom Gave Me.” But That’s A Strange Thing To Confess To Someone You Shattered. Part Of Me Hoped He’d Ask Why, That Way I Could Tell Him That They’re My Favorite Pair, That Inside Them There Are Tiny Roses, Vines- Curling Softly Where No One Ever Looks. But I Know I Shouldn’t Hope That He Would Talk To Me At All. I Shouldn’t Want Acknowledgment, Or Forgiveness, Or Even Permission To Exist In His World Again. I Shouldn’t Wish For Something That I Broke In The First Place. The Other Part Of Me Hoped He’d Stay Silent. Because The Truth Is, That’s A Question I Can’t Answer. Not To His Face. I Don’t Think I Could Answer Him— Not A Question, Not Small Talk, Not Even Goodbye. I Wish Someone Would Put This Puzzle Together. I Wish They Understood That When I Hear His Name I Don’t Flinch From Pain— I Wince From Regret. Because- I. Ruined. It. He Said Nothing To Me. I Said Nothing To Him. Instead, I Watched Him Almost Glide To The Door, Like The Ground Knew Him Better Than I Ever Did. And Just Like That— He Was Gone. And Thats I Realized Those Shoes Mean More To Me Than They Should. Not Because Of Who Gave Them To Me, But Because They Are The Only Part Of Me That Isn’t Actively Falling Apart. I Wear Them To Hopefully Remind Myself I Am Loved, Even Though All They Really Do Is Punish Me For Remembering. They Offer No Support. They Aren’t Made For Bad Backs Or Long Days. They Don’t Comfort Anything Except My Denial. Every Step In Them Reminds Me Of How Ignorant I Was, And How Carelessly I Threw Away Something That Would’ve Held Me Up. I’ve Tried To Buy New Shoes. But I Always End Up Back In These. Like Habit. Like Gravity. Like Punishment I Don’t Want to Interrupt. And Now The Truth I Tried To Forget Has Come Back Up— Not Loud, Not Dramatic, Just Leaking.. Softly From My Eyes, As If It Never Left- ..At All. Maybe- Maybe The Shoes Aren’t Just Shoes. Maybe They’re A Shape I Memorized. A Version Of Me I Still Step Into Even Though It Presses Wrong Now, Even Though It Leaves Marks I Pretend Not To Notice. And I Keep Asking Myself— Terrified, Naked In The Question— What Happens When I Grow Out Of Them? The Shoes His Mom Gave Me..? What Happens When The Real Cotton- Real Wear- Creases Where My Feet Bent Them To Fit A Life That No Longer Exists? What Happens When The Roses Inside Are Almost Gone, And The Vines Are Rubbed Thin By Time And Walking? I Know They Won’t Stretch Forever. They Won’t Wait For Me. And One Day, Whether I’m Ready Or Not, I’ll Have To Take Them Off— Not Because I’ve Healed, But Because Even Grief Has A Size Limit.
Abbyslove
Written by
Abbyslove
18/F/Al
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 1:27 AM UTC
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