The stuff that dreams are made of

A "puppy dog" with wounds laid bare.

He whispered ghosts of mothers gone

To keep your heart-strings pulling on.

You held the love behind your teeth,

While searching for the man beneath,

But when you offered peace and grace,

He spat the "truth" back in your face.

To him, your calm is "playing games,"

Your boundaries are just cold disdain.

He sees a trap in every gift,

A power play in every shift.

He doesn’t want a heart to hold,

He wants a story to be told—

Where he’s the catch, the king, the prize,

Reflected in your weeping eyes.

So let the "puppy" howl and bark,

While you go quiet in the dark.

The city’s calling, far and new,

Where no one owns the soul of you.

You’re not the one who’s "not all there,"

You’re simply breathing cleaner air.

The exit’s signed with one last blue:

Nothing like a phone call to make sense of the last couple months of your life. Reflecting on aspects of your struggles, suffering, and limited past perspectives.

Beats any therapy session with a person who half heartedly wants to converse with you.

No, I don’t miss our sex

But I did miss the illusion that we were paving a path towards a committed, loving relationship together

I miss the illusion that you were deeply drawn to me because you saw something unique in me that didn’t compare to others

I miss the illusion that we were going to be grounded earthly travelers together in this dog eat dog world

I miss the illusion that we would have been a power couple that no one wanted to mess with because we just had that edge to us

I miss the illusion that we would have each others back and always push forward together

Like Bonnie and Clyde

But I know… I ended that journey.

I needed the illusion to stop.

I wanted to stop feeding into lies we told ourselves.

I sensed the true colors, your true nature, before I dove deeper and deeper into your grip.

My body could sense the falseness.

My spirit could sense your pain and wanted to heal and nurture.