you said
it would work out.

it didn’t.

i hate
that i knew
i’d be right.

you mock my pain,
cheering me on.
like —
for real.

i’m annoyed.
a bit hurt.
disappointed,
because my first attempt
didn’t work.

you tell me it’s okay —
when it’s not.
you say it’s an easy fix —
i know it is.
yet i sit in the grump,
because i wasted time,
energy,
looking forward to this.

if it’s a let-down,
you say, ten percent of it is.
i say, ninety —
so you argue,
i’m too pessimistic.

bite me.

Something that tastes too sweet stops feeling
like a treat. The tongue grows heavy, and the
stomach twists; as what once melted into joy now
rots at the edges — a nectar that poisons, a kindness
that clings too tight, a love that smothers until you
can’t breathe without choking on its syrup.

Sweetness in excess is a quiet cruelty.
it does not heal; it only hides the sickness
it’s already become. And maybe that’s the trick —
a treat that tricks the tongue, a sweetness so thick
it sticks like honey on the heart, leaving you
starving while pretending to be fed.

Too much **** sugar and even
the heart gets cavities.

In my quest for love, I gained clarity about what love is not.
What began as love bombing, which made me feel giddy and soft,
quickly changed to breadcrumbing and feeling shut out and lost.
You withheld communication, and I longed for our playful ease.  
Being left out in the cold depleted my inner peace.  

Your inconsistencies made me question my own feelings of worth,  
And the gaslighting led me to second-guess what I knew to be my truth.  

Being treated as another option didn't resonate with my soul  
It clashed with my self-respect, which had kept me authentic and whole.

Facing this reality left me shattered, but it made it very clear.
Our time together was toxic; it was neither love nor care.