Scintillating

I used to love you.

I used to be in love with you,

so in love, in fact,

that I felt like part of my soul

was living outside my body,

perfectly aligned with yours.

But I wouldn’t be writing this poem

if I was still in love with you.

And thank God I’m not.

Because being in love with you hurt.

And you hurt me more than anyone I ever knew.

You tore me apart from the inside out.

The first time you cheated,

the first time your fist came down on my thigh,

or the first lighter flew past my head

I should have left.

But I thought if I could just love you well enough,

be enough,

I could love you until you were whole.

I used to love you.

I used to hate you.

I used to want to scream,

to ask why,

to hit you like you hit me,

make you bleed and bruise,

watch you hide the marks.

I wanted you to hurt like I did,

to feel this pain, this sadness so deep

it has no language

just emptiness growing in the dark.

I used to hate you.

But somewhere along the way,

the hate turned into something else

something without teeth,

and without love:

pity.

They say hurt people hurt people.

Man, you must be pretty hurt

to hurt me like that.

I don’t know who broke you,

but I am sorry they did.

I’m also sorry you’ll probably never be happy,

because you can’t be happy

while swinging at anything that moves.

I hope you regret what you did.

I hope you think of me.

I hope you know I didn’t deserve it.

Most of all, I hope you understand:

I used to love you,

and I used to hate you,

and now

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Créditos al artista de la imagen.