Infatuated

Only you’re no longer around to celebrate.

Today is for you; today I cry for you

Tear because your gone - Tears because I feel guilty - Tears because you deserved way more than what I was ever able to offer.

Tears because you were too good for me and to me.

Tears because you alway will be.

Forever sorry and quietly missing you.

that I showed up for me

I’d have exactly zero nickels.

I need change.

You’ve left me speechless for the last time.

You’ve moved on from your body but I haven’t.

We drifted sure, but I was always here for you I wish you would have known that. I hope you did know that.

I hope you know that for what it’s worth you’ve impacted my life and it’s been for the better. I have nothing but joy when I remember you, and I’m trying to smile but the tears are heavy and clouding my eyes. I try to breathe but it’s cut short when I realize I’ll never hear your laugh again or see those dimples or be embraced in your bear hug.

I took those things for granted when I had them and I’m sorry I didn’t see their worth or yours then.

I never deserved c and I sure as fuck didn’t deserve you when I had you b.

Xoxo

Why am I stuck up on elementary school crushes,

Who I totally had my moment with then and I keep replaying it only differently.

And fuck boys, who are fun to play with and text but will they amount to anything?

And old loves who turned into something that I was too scared and embarrassed to persue and blah blah blah complicated, who are daddies...

And the boy who I flirted with and spent more hours together with than I can countfor months on end, who wtf are we doing now?

Something I’ve never been asked or asked myself. Why?

Because my clothing did not provide my consent. My clothing did not say yes for me. No part of me said yes.

It seems like a silly question to ask “what were you wearing while you were experiencing one of the most earth shattering traumatic events of your life?”

I don’t know what I was wearing because it was not important. IT IS NOT IMPORTANT. I have that god forsaken memory on a constant loop and it plays in my brain whenever it so chooses. It creeps up, crawling out of the deepest, darkest parts of me. Trying to scratch the surface, feeding off my light. Sometimes I don’t even see it coming, it lurks in the shadows waiting to strike. I try not to define myself by this one moment, this one trama. I will not be defined by the man who did this to me, I will not be the broken victim. But it’s hard and I live with that everyday. I fight so that that darkness inside of me never sees the light.

It’s been ten years this June, ten years I’ve lived with this guilt, this embarrassment that I’ve always been so ashamed of. Yet people still ask