We were damaged early on.
Years of pretense.
A lifetime of living with it.
But the truth came out.
You didn’t like me.
That part didn’t hurt.
It’s that you didn’t even want to.
I was good enough to borrow money from though.
Just not appreciated enough to give me the truth.
Family, my ass.
It took my last bit of strength to pick up
every last bit of shredded off the floor. me
Left with bloody fragments of a torn heart,
a distorted mind and a shaken psyche.
My existence, Picasso’s
The Weeping Woman feel to it.
Feeling awkwardly out of place and lost in my space.
I had to recalibrate; I needed to rebuild.
Now I’m new and different, possibly improved.
A little wiser for the wear; a lot harder around the edges.
More protective of me, not so naive anymore.
Self-preservation took me to new heights.
I’m back and ready.
ever hurt me again.
Life doing its unintentional thing can hurt.
I weep, pull myself up and move on.
People’s forced recklessness do harm.
I weep inconsolably,
going deeper into my shell.
Feelings amplified in this echo chamber.
Can’t hear the external anymore.
I hide for a while,
working everything out inside.
And I emerge.
Lessons I’ve had more than a few.
I’m paying rent to occupy a space in your heart.
It’s a dark, dank unwelcoming place.
It costs me too much.
Over and over, repeated re-injury of the senses.
It’s what we had.
Dressed in our despair, bonded by pain.
It’s what we shared.
We twisted and contorted, struggled further to gain control.
It’s how we fought.
Every prick of the conscience drained another abscess.
It’s how we learned.
Giving up was not an option.
It’s how we lived.
You harm us all, pal.
I don’t respect your ideas.
Stop pissing on us.
Shocking upheaval delivered unexpectedly.
The heartache pounded harshly inward.
Internal distress burnt a tortuous red.
A deep cut surrounded by a million small tears.
The stress widened all the wounds.
Anguish and heartbreak followed.
The future, unending and suffering agony.
Sorrow and grief dictated the next steps for survival.
This daedal misery mimicked a slow death.
Love left in a upset heap, an untidy disarray of hurt.
This… this from someone who cherished commitment.
And in that moment of forced togetherness
I felt like the boy eating off the filth of a paper city
I realised I’m forcing the same trash through my heart
In craving to be someone’s priority
Vasvi Gupta – excerpt from Reversed Smiles
Find the specific details on why you loved this person, and it’s okay to find yourself still loving this person, but you have to see that these qualities do exist with a person who’s waiting for you, who’s even willing to give you more.
Let go of the fantasy. Loss is a good place to love yourself more and work on forgiving yourself more.
Baby, don’t think that the time you spent with that person was lost for it has prepared you for this very moment, our conversation here.
Heartache may lead to the suicide of the mind but never of the soul.
Juansen Dizon – excerpt from Every Woman
We’re not special, not like before.
I don’t fucking like you anymore.
Was before even all that? Was it even real?
You catapulted your heart and adoration away to another.
I transport back to emotions I was forced to leave behind. Aching for them.
Support is not commitment when your lover suffers subtle degrees of rejection.
Your focus was where it shouldn’t have been.
Layers of my strength came undone with your carelessness.
I was livid. I was lost.
am lost, and still here.
I’ve been on #9.
It was amazing. For awhile.
Was too young to know it might end badly.
Fooled by the soft and comfortable.
Got pushed off. Hard.
Too stupid on how to deal.
Fuck Cloud 9.
The landing was excruciating.