If I am writing about you now, then you have stolen from me something as precious as the gem I was named for-- my voice.
Though, I'm afraid our encounters were never quite as cinematic as Disney's animation-- no tantalizing mist of green shrouding our figures, no sweet harmony evaporating from a frightened, rouged mouth in wisps of golden light, and absolutely no happily ever afters.
See, you've always had a catty flair for stepping all over me like a Just Dance Mat-- yes, I'm quite familiar with the way you toy with others, myself included; and the **** has never defeated the Game Master.
Call a ***** a *****; I know very well that I can't change you or what you did me.
I can't undo the hurt.
But I can reclaim my voice.
Through poetry, I will say all the things I wish I had the courage to say to you way back when in response to your cruel fuckery.
I will expose you for what you truly are-- a petty, self-righteous sea (witch) *****.
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You praised my heart and helping hand And for the longest time I could not understand How any of that could make me special Until you used those words to describe her And how perfect she is.
And that is the paragraph on how you broke my heart for the first time ever.
But even in my darkest hour, my darkest day Your doings could not take my humor away. I am more than what you did to me, I am more than what you made me feel.
Even when you broke my heart I could not be mean enough to try and tear you apart. I cried so many tears, But for the next few years I wished you only the best.
Even after you left that gaping hole Right there in the very centre of my soul, I could not hate you, never hate you Because I loved you, always loved you Beyond your kind heart and helping hands Your everlasting patience and my high demands You understood me like no one else had ever done You listened to me when I was undone You cared for me when I broke down And then you took my heart, my very crown.
You broke my heart, my spirit, my pride But the one thing you could never take from me is my reflex to fight I'll fight your impact, your demeanour, what you made me feel I'll reclaim what you took me from me and reveal Once and for all what I know to be my greatest strength My love for myself. And that can really For real Unlike you And what I once allowed myself to feel for you Last the entire length.
It's time to burn the bridges I built While you were widening the gap. It's about reclaiming parts of me That I trusted you to hold. It has nothing to do with you. You've done enough damage, This is my fire.
The woods have become denser Where roots have gone deeper Lost between the intricate mesh Of the branches and that hold Embracing each other in a synergy Here the lost soul is looking for a way To navigate between the labyrinth Ideas and thoughts are not porous Ground realities have become grim Recoiled are the roots deep within Looking to move away from the lacunae As the woods come closer and grasp This soul has no answer to the questions Pertinent doubts are raised No looking away from the harsh world Feeling crushed between two realities A hallucinatory phase feels so real Nothing but prisoners we are Caught between the woods of reality Souls filtered us through travails Here are the sediments seeping Deep into the ground, where roots reclaim
And She will reclaim it all-- everything beneath our smoggy skies and everything our urban asphalt has tainted with chemicals and pall. Despite all of our very best tries, she will recycle our waste and tumult.
When we become our withered forms, and bleach white relics litter Earth, Her verdant tendrils will assimilate. Ashes-to-ashes; dust-to-dust storms Nutrients, gathered; much to Her mirth Promise to change, but it's too late.
Sunken warship; rusted, underwater reef Statues of sovereignty; fragmented, broken Soaring skyscraper; spilling onto the street Herculean dam; buckled, bleak, disbelief Playground overtaken; innocence, choking Religious steeples; dilapidated, obsolete.
Everything shall return to as it was Lumber to wood, concrete to sediment Nothing will remain; no speck of us Before and after-- effect and cause Reclamation is mutual; no sentiment She reclaims, and it will be thus.
But I know I left you on a Sunday after spending six months trying to shove the words that escaped me into the dozens of envelopes that you had sent over the last six years.
I don’t know how loves works but I know that Christmas Eve, when you held me and I cried, it was because I was already losing track of your world map hands as you navigated the clams in the soup your brother made.
I don’t know how love works, but I know that over spring break, i bought flowers i knew you wouldn’t even like to say I’m sorry, even though I knew I was just trying to make things better temporarily until I got the courage to say goodbye.
I don’t know how love works, but I know that when you force feed yourself a certain amount of affection, your body starts to reject it. You can only fill up so much artificial substitute for love, like cotton candy filling up my head and grape flavoring spilling out of my mouth all over your bedsheets like the time i was drunk and spilled hot chocolate with marshmallows and you yelled at me like they would never be clean again.
I can’t love a terrarium. I get too frustrated with things I can’t touch. I can’t fill up any more phone calls with rainstorms and giving up.