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Rana DiOrio Feb 2019
I held your hand as you disentangled from her
you did not move closer to me

I assuaged your worst fears
you fueled mine

I was fully present and attentive
you took calls that came in . . . and didn’t call back

I asked questions
you answered different ones

I made you a playlist
you never acknowledged

I made plans and reservations
you did not show

I gave you the benefit of every doubt
you did not reassure me

I made myself vulnerable
you remained ensconced

I created space in my life
you did not explore

I dared to dream about us
you dreamed about . . . I don’t know

I gave you my body
you reached for your phone

I gave you my heart
you did not reciprocate

I get it now
you are just not that into me

Only wish I knew sooner.
Born of Fire Nov 2014
Masks is all I've ever known. All i thought i knew was camouflaged by the complacent world around me. I grew with a fool's sight and an idiot's judgement. I learned eventually, that everyone gets to make their own mask.  You knew how to pull mine away from my skin for moments that seemed to stand still, lacking oxygen. I got defensive at the fact that your mask was so thick, and seemed to be sewn into your cheeks. I never even got to see you remove the mask before the tides yanked me into the storm of insanity. My heart slows at the sight of the empty roads, they remind me of the look in your eyes the night you told me I wasn't worth the trouble. I'm galaxies away from a place to call home. The dark sky mocks me in a way I never thought so heart wrenching.  The lights don't comfort me like they did before your eyes grazed across my skin. It wasn't until you left I realized you were using bullets instead of kisses. And my shell shock still persists. I have gun shells lodged in my skin. Your subliminal phrases struck glass into my mouth like lightning, which runs like tornadoes through my lungs. When I breathe out, all that escapes is you. I thought I was tough using your words as armor, i was convinced that that is what tough was. I didn't let anyone remove the metal from my chest, and no one gained access to the tender parts of my body. I believed in my heart that I was protecting myself, building an imaginary shield. Encasing myself in fear and caution.  But now I can see the glass in my lungs was only smoke from the cigarettes I held onto late at night, a substitute for your hand in mine. The artillery living inside my skin was just purple scars and it wasn't shock, it was highly dilated pain. Heart stopping, ***** inducing pain. And it wasn't going to go away. Because if I'm using my pain as armor, when can happiness ever replace that?

— The End —