She invaded my senses, filled my lungs and stoked the embers of my soul.
She was my death and my rebirth.
She was like the little voice in the back of my head reminding me that even though the sun had set, the beauty of of the night will soothe whatever pain my soul carries.
Learning to love myself means confronting
the toxicity and flaws
I long pretended didn’t exist
I trusted you.
I trusted the words you said, the promises that you made, and the life you promised so when I placed my heart in your hands, you held on to it so tightly I imagined it was exactly what real love was supposed to feel like.
But I fell in love with an imposter and no matter the stripes painted along its sides, an ass will be an ass so now that I know, now that I see it for all it truly was -
Well, I don’t know anymore. I just really don’t.
I thought I could write a poem, have it capture the emotional state I’m in and let it sit on a site for days on end while I pretend like what I wrote isn’t just the half of it.
I thought I could use metaphors and similes and hyperboles to explain away the shadows that creep along my subconscious if I sit in silence for too long.
I thought I could do challenges to distract me from the draft on my phone begging for attention because it’s not quite finished.
There are fears I stuffed down in the basement of my mind because handling my emotions makes me feel weak because too many people have taken them, broken them, and handed them back to me in pieces thinking they’ll work the same.
There are remnants of unbridled passion swirling around in my heart while my desires swing like a pendulum between going after what I want or waiting for it to happen on its own.
(There’s a special section for the woman I love where it vibrates at such a high frequency sometimes I can’t breathe and sometimes it’s silent like the calm before the storm where the mere mention of her name sends lighting through my veins as my body trembles from the thunder.)
There are knots, weights, and butterflies fighting for dominance in my stomach because not once has my gut been wrong when it mattered the most but the guilt of making decisions that are good in the long run always comes back around because in my efforts to be a better version of me I had to burn bridges and breaks hearts to get there.
There is smoke still wafting off my fingers after I pulled the trigger and shot the bullet that would embed itself deep within someone I once believed would be forever.
(But damn if forever doesn’t come with fine print attached to the contract and damn if a forgotten amendment doesn’t come back to bite you in the ass because all you saw was the bottom line and not everything above it.)
There’s blood on my hands from the nights I spent stripping away at the mask I’d been wearing for so long, hiding behind a persona that couldn’t speak without asking for permission; that apologized for demanding attention and respect; that agreed to live the life of a pretender instead of breaking free.
There’s the lies on my lips from the moments I held back, held on, or let go too soon that taste of acid each time I swallow my opinions, my beliefs, my expectations.
But most importantly, there’s the look in my eyes that reflects the emotional hurricane whipping through my heart and soul, sweeping all the fears, hesitations and past heartaches out to sea.
In the midst of my chaos, I found answers in the places I least expected and my peace walks on clouds with love in her heart.
I thought writing a single poem would get all of that out of my system but I was wrong.
I’m *insert label here*
Being in this community is both enlightening and confusing. There are so many levels and labels involved that sometimes it’s easier just to say Queer. I’m so many different things that at this point I’m the rainbow personified.
Least it feels this way.
Why can’t I just be me and not have to worry about the label that comes with it?
She looked amazing that day in the park.
But I never told her that.
All I could think was that any guy or girl who will call her “theirs” would be the luckiest person in the world.
When she looked into my eyes, I knew she saw the shattered fragments of my past that formed the jagged edges of my present, slicing her fingers each time she reached for them.
When I spoke, I knew she could only hear the others who came before her. The ones that twisted my words into knotted exaggerations and made it hard for her to tell where the truth began and the lies ended.
When she reached out for me, I cringed at her expectations of smooth skin, but I knew she only found cold hands aching for a warmth that she couldn’t give me.
When she placed her head against my chest, I watched the light in her eyes dim as she heard nothing but the echoed wails of a heart that was too afraid to beat for anyone, let alone me.
When she told me to trust her, I lifted my neck and showed her the still fading bruises from my exes all because I trusted them not to squeeze too tight.
When she begged me to show her, I turned off the lights and told her to that if she could find me in the dark, then she would see all that she needed to see.
When she broke down and asked me why I wouldn’t love her, I knelt before her and told her that I loved her with everything I had.
I told her she was a constant crashing against my shores, wearing down my sands and washing away the remnants of the footprints of my past.
I told her she was the island in the middle of my waters, my haven, my sanctuary.
I told her she was the sun when I was cold, the rain when I was warm, the moon when I was alone, the stars when I couldn’t find my way.
She was the one I found forever in.
And when she walked away, I expected her footprints to vanish behind her.
But still they remain.
As I search for her in the midst of the crowd,
I discover who I am through her eyes
I fell for someone, and I don’t know how to feel about it.
You see, this woman has been hand-crafted by angels and divinely created for something great. But she fell into the wrong hands over time and now I can only watch as she pulls herself back together again, spending time on the glass heart she’d been holding against her chest when we met.
I learned that she’d been re-calibrated over and over and over again to the point her original frequency was lost over time and she has no idea how to be in tune with herself anymore.
I’ve caught glimpses of her scars that’d been painted over to the point that she gets lost under the brush strokes of artists who couldn’t see the beauty in front of them.
I knew she’d been placed on pedestals so high that if she wanted, she could touch the stars.
But she suffocated, and then, she fell.
She caught fire as she streaked through the night sky and the flames left her raw and exposed as she crashed into the Earth.
She sliced her hands and fingers as she collected the pieces of her glass heart and crawled to her feet.
And that’s how I found her...
She’d be broken and hastily put back together again even though some of the pieces weren’t working or they were in the wrong spot.