TheRobot

All you had to do is say you want me, but you never did

let me tell you something: no one is going to look at you, broken and shattered and think - damn, you are beautiful. no one is going to come pick up your broken pieces off the floor and assemble them into a beautiful whole. hell, you won’t even look at yourself and think - I made broken look beautiful. you know why? because all those writers lied to you. yes, all those with their poems of scraped knuckles and blood dripping down chins, pomegranate songs and loves that ripped through you like hurricanes. liars. so you and i, we are going to make a plan. you are not going to romanticize days when your brain tells you to smash that mirror, you are not going to romanticize the lover who doesn’t understand you but still writes about you. here is what you are going to romanticize instead: you are going to romanticize the first day of spring, its gentle hands all over your body, lifting you up until you are as light as a feather. you are going to romanticize the tea and honey kind of love, no hurricanes, but sunshine that builds you up from within, that helps you make it through the worst days. you are going to romanticize gentle hands of a friend in yours, telling you that it is going to be okay. because it is. and don’t trust poets, we’re no good, we love pretending that our jagged edges tantamount to a beautiful disaster, but in reality - there ain’t nothing beautiful about shaky hands holding a cigarette and empty eyes staring at the cracks in the walls. you know what is beautiful, instead? the days when you can look at yourself in the mirror and smile, scars and all. music that makes your soul flow like a river, books that offer comfort, families flocking together like overgrown birds to keep you safe and warm, friends that give you strength when you can find none, lovers who make you laugh through tears. baby, from now on you are going to romanticize healing; honey dripping down your fingertips, August nights that stick to your skin, the day you find your purpose, long car rides and singing so loud that no one can shut you up now. bad news: no one is coming to save you. good news: you can save yourself.

I gave you too much, you didn’t give me enough. I put my feelings out there bravely, you put your feelings out there to fake it. I loved you too hard, you loved me too easy. All I’m asking is, if I’m not what you want — why not just free me?

My mind could not comprehend how extravagant and pathetic my love for you was, until it saw you hurting the way I used to hurt before you rescued me. I worry I am not capable of saving you from the pain you feel. I now know what true love is; letting you be with the person who will help you. Even if that person isn’t me…

When the tide comes in you must remember, you’re drowning. Remember; only for a short while your lungs collapse before the tide departs the shore again. This is where others learn to hold their breath but you must learn to swim.

If you want well defined muscles, you workout. If you want to become a better writer, you write. If you want a stronger heart, you leap, you break, and then, when you’re ready, you do it all over again.

I am both selfless and selfish, and that makes me so confused whether I’m good at loving or leaving.

You are the spilled ink I’ve turned to canvas who took most of the space in my heart’s gallery. Yet here I am, your least favorite brush, sturdy and refine, whom you will never notice in all the brushes who lined.

Do you stay because you’re crazy about them? Or leave because you know you’re crazy for letting them treat you like you’re not good enough.