“You loved him.”
It wasn’t a question,
but I answered anyway.
I immediately became defensive,
scared of my past being brought up
and merged with my present.
I was doing so much better.
I couldn't afford to mess it all up now.
“I wouldn’t call it love.” I said,
when I wanted to say:
YESYESYESYESYES OH GOD YES
“Why?”
Perhaps they were genuinely curious.
They didn’t know, after all.
They didn’t know anything about
him, or me, or us.
And they never would.
I couldn’t let someone in, not now.
“It's complicated.” I said,
when I wanted to say:
IT'S SO SIMPLE
I LOVED HIM BECAUSE
HE MADE ME FEEL SOMETHING,
AND FEELING ANYTHING IS
BETTER THAN FEELING NOTHING
HE TAUGHT ME HOW TO LOVE WHEN
I COULDN’T EVEN LOVE MYSELF
“So why did it end?”
I could feel the walls
I built myself tumbling down.
I wanted to tell them,
I wanted to tell them everything.
I couldn't. I turned away.
“It didn't work out.” I said,
when I wanted to say:
I TRIED I TRIED I TRIED
I GAVE HIM EVERYTHING I WAS
AND I LET HIM TAKE
EVERYTHING I HAD
AND HE STILL WANTED MORE
IN THE END, I WASN'T
SMART ENOUGH
PRETTY ENOUGH
SKINNY ENOUGH
THICK ENOUGH
QUIET ENOUGH
BOSSY ENOUGH
CLASSY ENOUGH
SLUTTY ENOUGH
WILD ENOUGH
PRIVATE ENOUGH
ATTRACTIVE ENOUGH
HAPPY ENOUGH
NO MATTER WHAT DID,
I WASN'T ENOUGH
