THIS IS LOVE?
If you think a little broken heart could stop me from loving you.
What if you only knew…
I break my own heart daily.
Would you just try to stay?
What if all I’ve known of love is that…
Those closest to me would eventually only refer to me as, “crazy.”
What if I told you I don’t think any one person could save me?
What if I just asked for a hand on my shoulder?
Just the feeling of that.
Would be enough to break me.
What if I told you I only expect the other shoe to drop?
When I take a chance on love?
What if I told you that the only reason your holding my hand feels so sacred…
Is that my hope has only been kicked in…
Someway or somehow?
I don’t say these things for pity.
I say them because I do not have the capacity…
To withhold my vulnerability.
My brain has been heavily reduced.
To extremes at this point in time.
The little things.
I barely notice them.
Extremes.
It’s all I have got left.
Of those I have left.
Or, of those who have left.
The very people that did their best to rip me into…
Two parts of myself?
Now, all I have is…
Hot and cold.
That was their goal.
To hurt me.
Wasn’t it?
They did it.
Congratulations!
And so…
I’ve become distant.
A shut in.
A recluse.
To letting love in.
It’s that or I am nothing.
Or, I am so brazenly in your face telling everyone.
It’s okay to let me go!
I chose distance because every helping hand…
Felt like a closed fist right into my throat.
When help just felt like judgement.
Their help was as harmful as the silence…
I repeatedly endured because of what?
It wasn’t possible for those around me…
To believe I just simply couldn’t have gone through all these…
“…somethings.”
Isn’t that something?
“She’s covered in absurdity.”
Am I really that obtuse?
Acute.
It just isn’t possible?
The ones that claimed to love me eventually…
Just raised their brows or scoffed at my suffering.
Every part of my fetal cries in bed…
Became so offensive.
“How dare she hold onto this for so long?”
“How dare she say the actions we made out loud?”
“She deserves to live in all her wrongs.”
The crowds gathered against me eventually all sing the same song.
“You never really belonged.”
I knew the subtleties of it all along before the guillotine even dropped.
Now, “love” to me has separated into its primary colors.
Vibrant until they touch one another.
I don’t think much of love for myself.
I do think the world of me just trying to express it.
It being for me though?
Just a muddied mess.
It would be nice though…
To feel my heart be caressed…
To have this sunken chest…
Be pressed against another warm body…
Instead of into these cold walls around me.
Somewhere where my cold hands could…
Rummage through something for comfort.
I dream of these things.
How does someone move on from being told that…
When I looked at them like they were everything…
That it was what’s the word…
“…annoying?”
I don’t know but I’d like to try.
I love a good love story.
I listen to them amongst friends.
I just cannot fathom this “love life” for me…
Yet, they live it so beautifully…
It’s too large of a concept…
To believe in a life…
Where I’m loved undoubtedly.
That maybe…
There is possibility?
To be loved greatly.
I feel bravest when I’m with you.
