My eyes have never been as sore, red from all that water that bellows out of them. I never been one for crying, that sadden expression of the mind is dull. The nose runs, leaving lines across jumper sleeves.
You came back with carriages, filled with gifts bringing back the pain you caused, the…
The lingering silence of your voice is haunting, nothing draws you back into my wounds, ones that are brought to life with the sound of crickets in my wardrobe.
I hate that you’ve seeped into my insides, like some cheap wine I drank to forget you.
A poison that acts like ghosts in my walls to my flesh, you were a thumb tax upon my floor that I somehow always stepped on.
I hate that you still burn in my soul, tormenting me with your kindness, everything.
Please pop up on my phone again, forget the past like storybooks we outgrown, like lullabies we knew from childbirth.
I never got that chance to redeem the fate god grew on rose petals for us, while you cut them too closely.
I stopped going to therapy because I knew my therapist was right and I wanted to keep being wrong. I wanted to keep my bad habits like charms on a bracelet. I did not want to be brave. I think I like my brain best in a bar fight with my heart. I think I like myself a little broken. I’m ok if that makes me less loved. I like poetry better than therapy anyway. The poems never judge me for healing wrong.