I remember being sixteen and being in love.
My heart raced at the mere anticipation of him.
I honestly believed that he was perfect.
But he never truly loved me for me; not in retrospect.
After that I went searching for a new love.
One that would love me for who I am.
I searched for years but I didn’t find it.
Just constant disappointments and an inability to commit.
Then I decided I would love no more.
I’d never give myself over again unless it was inescapable.
I promised myself, my mother and all my friends.
But a matter of months later I fell in love all over again.
I couldn’t fathom my own weakness- it felt like giving in.
Until I realised the love I’d found had to be real;
Because, yes he loved me true,
But most importantly; he helped me love my own skin too.
I made a bowl of soup for myself tonight.
Red bean, kale, and quinoa.
I toasted two slices of bread,
let them cool.
I planned on dunking them
in the soup
to sop up leftover broth.
While the canned food heated
in the red saucepan
on the first burner
to the right,
I did simple tasks.
Recycled bottles from days before,
put away the dishes in the drying rack,
fed the cat.
I paced back and forth,
in my purple socks,
from my bedroom
to the kitchen,
listening to an old record
that sounds like nostalgia.
I did simple tasks.
Small, achievable things.
Self care comes
in many forms.
Is it ending now?
I crumble in the corner,
Of my few days left.
Fire swirling in the dusk,
Hard to push on.
I fear I have no second chance,
No room left to breath.
My only light,
Dim in the foreboding night.
Feeling stretched till eternity,
Wanting to run.
Needing breathe for the last stretch.
Passing out into my abysmal lost wretch
Gone are the moments I can’t remember.
In this, my awful mess.
Occasionally, somebody comes along and unlocks
a part of me, that I never knew existed.
Sometimes, I am okay with that,
welcoming, the rush of warmth that floods my body.
more often than not,
I mess up.
Time, and time again -
never learning but always loathing.
I have changed though,
yet it appears it's too little, too late
and those that could have been an option for
joy, those who could have held my very own
personalised key to happiness,
have left already.
Who are you to obtain my well being?
my disparates have led to my demise:
whilst you stand, withering and pretending,
your eyes, holding the veil of disguise.
i beg, so soft, for a forgiving glance:
but it is my own that turns around
i seek the world in which i have the chance
to burn the veil that i myself have found.
you may use words to strike me down for now,
but I know that they can never harm me.
my mind is set, I am forever bound
to the will I place and choose to lead.
though the memories never fully decay
i act as i am, i say what i say.
I was always afraid of leaving
thinking that I would lose the parts of me willing to love again,
as if I had forgotten my heart was mine, still beating in my chest
to afraid of what I would become if I was alone or without you
like I thought that my brilliance was only because of you or something
and that it wasn't actually more of a reflection of myself back to me
I had forgotten I am my own
I am enough
to love again is inevitable
because I myself, am irrevocably going to be loved