I don't need to be saved.
From myself,
my perils,
or, you.

I don't need to be told I'm broken,
for I know that better than most.
I am aware I am hurting,
and that there are fake smiles that never reach my eyes.

However, I don't need a great love to be better.
Not romantically anyway.
Though it would be nice,
I value self-love above lust.

I am getting better, day by day.
By myself, for myself.
Though I still hurt and let tears run rampant,
I am me, and I believe that to be poetic of sorts.

I feel pretty with my makeup,
mysterious with my clothes,
experienced with my heartache,
and alluring with my inner demons.

I don't need to be saved, I need to do the saving.

Oh, God.
I dreamed of you and you promised to return.
Even through your uninterested replies, I still believed.
You had tod me you were coming back on a Tuesday.
So I waited for Tuesday.
It came and I dressed for the occasion, but it went by unnoticed.
So I dressed for Wednesday, thinking you were just late.
But Wednesday went away too.
So Thursday came and I prayed, it too bore the same outcome.
So I did the same for Friday,
because just maybe it was going to be a dramatic entrance, befitting of you.
And you know what happened?
Nothing, nothing in the slightest.
Oh, God.
When did I get to be like this,
I never cared before.
So I texted to make sure I wasn't wrong.
I wasn't, you just changed your mind.
And even to this day,
it shatters me inside.
Well, I have moved on, I think.
I will dress for me and my happiness.
I will no longer be better for you, or anyone for that matter.
So this is a thank you for showing me I'm better.
Oh, God.

I have begun to be uninspired.
Little pieces of poems with a blank, surrounding screen.
I do not remember when writers block set in.
I do feel, however, that I can escape this listless typing.
With a little help and a lot of research on new words,
I can become un uninspired and unlost.