You are in my written poetry
I portray you as someone I look up to
I sense the feeling you're capable
Of being that person.
You are in my head
Pinpointing the level of anxiety
I get from you, when you tell me you have fantasies of other people.

I portray you as my killer
You killed the most beautiful thing inside me
You wrapped me up in a plastic bag
And sold my heart to the wolves.
I portrayed you as the person
Who lifts me; in reality you brought me to my knees.

I want to see you as the better person,
But that just hasn't happened.

I feel like I hurt you.
I know I didn't
but it feels like I did.
You're making yourself feel like I did
so now I do too.
You think I feel nothing for you
so you think you're nothing to me
but yet and still,
I feel like I hurt you.

It's not my fault that you forgot
that I'm a risk.
But see you "forgot"
so at one point,
you knew.
Don't act like you're in the dark.
But most importantly,
don't act like I put you there.

You won't see this.
And it wouldn't matter if you did.
After all of myself I've shown you,
you still act like you don't see.
So reading this would be pointless...
for you.
For me,
this is the barrier between
the disdain that I feel
and the "*******" that you'll hear.

I want to love you...
woman.
With everything in me.
Enough til it kills me.
I want you to be my prize.
I want it to be you woman
that I meet at the end of this road.
I want,
for you to be the "good" part.
I really want that.

But I can't love you woman.
Not now, not here.
Not yet.
If I tried,
it won't be love.
It'll be scorn.
It'll be resentment.
It'll be the cold and harsh.
It'll be the "*******"s
and "I don't care"s.
And that's one thing I enjoy the most
....caring.

It'll be everything but ***.
I can dedicate my body to yours,
be your high at day's end
with good, strong and close ***.
Give you my mouth and manhood.
Taste you until you feel delicious...
and "this" still,
wouldn't be ***.

That's not my hunt.
We make it ***
when you make it ***....woman.
You're not a little girl.
You wanted me to know that.
So don't act like one.
I know,
It's easy to forget.
You do it all the time.
But you can't forget this...woman.
You didn't give in to me,
you gave in to yourself.
You just chose me as company.

You invited me in
and I filled you with goodness
and my forsaken seed.
So now,
you feel like this story writes itself...
or atleast you hope it does.
But there you go,
playing "little girl" again.
This story didn't write itself,
these are your words on these pages.

So here I am,
stuck in a story,
that you've written for me.
Stuck,
as the pain you feel.
And even though I didn't want a story,
even though we never needed one,
Im the chapter you just can't wait to close.
You did this,
all of it.
And still I Feel Like I Hurt You.

The tears you had, from me
I picked them up
They soaked into my skin and now they’re falling for you.

Recycled

The sunflowers I got you probably aren’t hanging from the wall anymore.
I hope they make the trash smell lovely.

They were meant to be

Lovely that is,
But I’m sure they felt like a materialist apology
For something that could only be healed with feeling.

Unapologetic resentment, is probably what I would name us. Our story

Pushed out,
you only got a glimpse of what was inside of me, all you had left was to imagine what could’ve been there
I’m sorry our brains want it all to be beautiful

Maybe it was beautiful
I was so scared of you being let down I almost did the opposite.
I did, do the opposite.

the idea of hurting your feelings unintentionally, was scary

I thought I would push you away
But I really only hid behind the curtains
You heard and felt what I felt.

But you couldn’t see, you went mad
I thought the curtain was enough

I could’ve sworn it was enough.

they’re was so much going on around me I couldn’t hear you when you said it was too loud, so you walked in the other room.

I didn’t notice until it got quiet and I went to look behind the curtain.

New flowers, no curtains.

I’m sorry.

I saw a simplicity
I knew I could hide away in
In you
A quiet normalcy
I thought it would bring me
all the features in life I didn’t think I deserved:
Babies
Bills
Rings
and Hard earned holidays.

You preyed on the evidence
that I was hiding from my own origin story.
Cowering in paralyzing fear
From the woman I was designed to be.

There are no red flags when you’re wearing rose tinted glasses.

When bitterness bites my heart
with anger, resentment, hurt
and a sense of unjust treatment,
what should I do?

Does it soothe my heart
to accept what has happened
as Destiny?

Does it soothe my heart
to strive to discover
what I can do
to improve my situation
to increase my joy and happiness?