The Insanity of Her Pretty Little Mind

I hate that one soup with thick noodles and chicken broth. He taught me how to savour warmth and comfort. I hate how I now refuse to know what it tastes like.

He ran away. Maybe family was not about the woman you married or the kids you left since that day from a province he brought them to and ought to give a decent life when bills and loans were everything fed on the table. He wastes pennies like he knows how to have money. Why would he care when he's a man child clothed in ego and misogyny.

I hate that he paints her a tint of gray that I break myself everyday to color her back to life. He made her an impostor. His words poisoned her silence. Killing every ounce of life and passion within her heart. How can i possibly watch her lose her light when she's the only reason why I try to get sleep every damn night?

I want to beat people's mouths trying to know and dictate how she feels.

"She's got another guy."

"Look, she's out with her kid this time of night."

"She' heartless enough to leave him."

I do not care if I maim their tongue. Silence is better than having their chatter suffocate the living sanity I have.

It's not strange to hate you anymore. Maybe anger hasn't left my heart after nineteen years. You're the reason why I refuse to believe I am capable of love. You're the reminder of why absences hurt more than actually leaving your ghost. You're the plague of my existence. I hate even the fact that your blood runs underneath my skin. I want to bleed myself dry and be clean of any trace you ever gave to build me.

I refuse to know you. I refuse to have you in my life and slowly strangle me to death.

I loathe you so much so that I finally abhor myself less.

Because hating myself hurts a little less when I make other people smile.

The length of simple words such as those, do not and they cannot expire. The more we hold back from saying anything, the more we fail to express what clogs our hearts. It's one to make someone smile but it's a different thing to keep their heart warm.

Remember all the marks by the wooden floor

In this old forgotten house,

You can hear the shiver of one's soul

Echoing by the bridges,

It startled you,

But don't let it grip your sanity.

This excruciating tempo of feeling you breathe unevenly

Temps me to poke my eyes with a steel dipped in acid

How do I not ache seeing you falter like that?

It's the same pain but it hits worse each time I feel how my heart's been pounded over and over again until my blood stops, until all my chambers become cold and white

Should I even taint something dead?

Smear it with blood and pretend it's all okay or maybe drop it off a cliff?

It's pounding; it's annoying.

It provokes me; it maddens me.

You deserve more than just this.

I despise my hand for not being able to do anything but to help

I can't change anything yet.

Who am I even?

What am I right now?

I feel useless.