#nmbf

I fell in love with the wrong soul and now mine needs mending

When will we stop making excuses for the men that we love?

I’d be living my best life, singing while cooking and cleaning my bedroom and then my brain decides to throw a curveball at me by reminding me how my ex betrayed me followed by the most unhinged memory of him cheating.

Boys undoing buttons and clasps with one hand always gets to me

Where do you go when there’s no where to go? What do you do when you have no one to talk to? What is there to do when the only person you want to tell about that boy who broke your heart is the boy who broke your heart? How do you pick up the pieces and even if you start, how can you be sure that you picked all of them? What if you can’t find some essential pieces that make you whole? So now you’re broken and aching and bleeding. You’re leaving a trail of blood along the living room, the washroom, the bedroom. And the blood has now started to pool around your bed and from that blood grows something evil. It is you but it is not you either. You’re not sure. These days you’re not sure about anything. A fog clogs your head and you’re trying to find your way back to him in that fog. He’s calling out your name but it’s coming from every direction. You find yourself at the same spot every few hours and you have to make a decision which way to turn but you can’t always choose right. So now you’re back again to where you started. That something that grew from your blood is now sitting on your shoulder, it’s hissing and mewling and crying and you can only make out one word- his name. You’re getting tired and you’re shivering but it isn’t cold. The fog thickens as the time slips. The only thing left to do is wrap your arms around yourself and lie on the hard ground. Your new companion is now singing a lullaby and there are new words. It’s everything you used to call him. You’re hoping you fall asleep. It doesn’t come easily. But eventually you do. And you dream. There’s fog, there’s blood, there’s a lullaby playing on repeat- his name, his name, his name.

I realised that the only reason I feel happy around him is because I’m in love with him and it tricks my brain into thinking that I’m happy whereas it has got nothing to do with him, but all to do with what’s inside my head

I need a man who cries when he reads my poetry. Is that too much to ask for?