TinyLittleThin Hey Mia

Poetry

Out of all the things ive had to accept, and move on from,

Youve been the hardest.

And sometimes

When its really hard

I suppose you were right all along

Stumbling around it

Relating moments to a song

Recognition, your face

And where to place you in my memory

A lullaby, your voice, and how, i always heard a melody

And where to find you in my dreams

And where to put you in my heart

I found a maze after you left

Its hard to navigate, apart

Maybe you should just come back

And help me carry half the load

You know they say its always safer

It's like having a knife embedded in my chest.

You make me bleed over and over.

The blood as red as my love and the pain as throbbing as a fresh wound.

But I carry you still.

For the red reminds me of your bedroom and the pain, of you.

You go far away from me.

I watch you disappear within yourself, a palace with no doors, no windows.

A gorgeous palace indeed.

I stare at the slight curve of your nose and wish that one day, you'd take me too.

Within you, a place of no escape, so I too can be trapped in your mind.

You wouldn't be alone then,

I'd spend eternity within the confines of your chains.

Until then, I gaze at your face and wait for you to return to me.

It will take time, and I am patient.

Afterall, you always return to me when our eyes meet.

it’s broken now. and i release any part of you that was ever bound to me. i showed you what i thought was every part of me. i think that’s why it felt like there was a death. but it wasn’t you or even us who died; it was me. i was dying. you saw and felt how pure my love was for you and you, like the thief you are, decided it was yours to take. greedily feasting on me, while i was in awe of you. the movies i had watched as a teen learning what love was. you watched those with me, but you don’t own them. i own them. they shaped me. you will never be able to take it from me. i may take some time to disassociate from the memory of sharing them with you, but it will come back to me. the songs i sang in front of you in the shower and the music that we shared and the lines between them where i live sometimes; they still belong to me. those songs will slowly fade of memories with you and belong to me again. the poems and love-notes i wrote you will never be recycled and used on other people like you did to me, or to them, or to the girl you’re currently extorting. they die with me. i am in the marrow of my bones, not you. i don’t know where the “i love you’s” go after they die, but they always seem to grow back and my field of sunflowers will raise their heads to Soleil again. i’ll write new poems and love-me’s and love-me-not’s for myself and about myself and for someone who can truly hold them. i won’t have to fight for it or cry for it or beg for it or lose myself for it, it will be given freely. and i’ll grow to appreciate the parts of myself that you and others deemed unfit. the thing is, i was never unequal. i am enough to sit at the table and want that for myself. they won’t hesitate and they’ll follow through on their promises. the names i told you about that i’ve held dear for almost a decade, they’re still mine. you won’t tarnish their meaning or the want and hope i have of being a mama one day. i had lived in the knowledge for years that i wasn’t deserving and that “someone like me doesn’t get to have those things”. maybe i will one day, then again maybe i won’t. i know someone will truly want that with me and empower me rather than watch the despair i feel of each passing month rolling into a year of unkept promises and snuffed lives. i know of the sadness that took a toll on my body and weight i gained from disordered eating. binging to keep myself small for you. when i met you i was barely human. i still question who i am now and how hell really does have a basement. but i’ll lose the weight of you and the sadness i gained. i’ll look like me again. feel like me again. sing like me again. laugh like me again. i’ll sleep with my conscience and you’ll hold your lies tighter. and soon you’ll be so far from my mind not even the punchlines can find you. a forgotten joke someone wrote on the lip of napkin used to wipe a spill. and me? i’ll be doing some hot girl shit like twirling my hair in my fingers probably having my pussy devoured by someone who can make me cum and keep me safe.

that is my sense of self. i am more than two-knuckles deep. you should mourn the loss of me. you had me for more than a year and you only dipped your toes; i am an ocean.