You light the fire in front of me
and then you blame me for playing with it.
Don’t tell me that you love me
and then blame me for falling in love
with you.
I want to complain to you
about you.
I want to cry to you
about you.
Perhaps the you who I loved
can tell the you who left
to come back home.
You say you want
a good woman,
and here I am
standing in front of you
with goodness pouring
out of my soul,
yet you see right through me
as if I don’t exist.
You say you want
a faithful woman,
and here I am
with commitment beaming
out of my eyes,
yet you look right past me
as if you don’t care
about honesty.
You say you want
a woman who loves you
for who you are,
and here I am with love
spilling from my heart
for you.
Yet you no longer look at me.
It’s as though the beauty of my soul
has expired
and it’s time for you to find
a new woman
while I sit here and wonder
what it is about me that
you once thought was magic
and you now see as a
dusty antique
that you no longer wish
to marvel at,
crave,
or touch.
Rejection hurts
even if it’s from someone
you no longer want.
A knife in your heart
hurts no less
if you don’t want it there.
I do not want you to apologize.
I do not want you to be sorry that
I felt that way.
I want you to be sorry for
what you did.
To feel sorry for
making me feel
the way that you did.
When home doesn’t feel like home:
I drive around in circles
hoping to get to a destination—
one where I would be happy.
The right place.
The right time.
But it seems so impossible.
Where I leave from and
where I arrive
feel the same.
The ones who are supposed to
love you
don’t love you.
So you run to those who
were never supposed to love you
but tend to love
people like you
who need love
so they can be loved in return.
Because those who were supposed to
love them
did not love them either.
It’s been awhile
since I finally accepted
the end.
But my heart still aches
every time I think
of how we ended.
And if I could go back,
I wish I could tell you:
I stayed for so long,
not because I was weak
but because I believed
in the good person in you.
I left, not because
you stopped wanting me
but because I no longer
loved myself by loving you.
You are so hurt
but so kind.
You can’t even tell them
“You hurt me.”
You worry about
hurting their feelings
by telling them
that they hurt you.
How beautiful
is that kindness pouring
out of you?
I am so tired of
carrying this pain
that was never mine
in the first place.
Always give love.
Always be kind.
Always give your best.
If the world hurts
you
because of that,
know that
you
are creating a better world.
The world sees that
you are in pain
and says:
Let me give you a little more.
You’ve handled this much.
You can handle a bit more.
I don’t have to look like
I’m in pain
for me to be
in pain.
Your friends will say:
“I miss you.”
You’ll say:
“I miss me too.”
I was telling them
that I was in pain
without telling them.
I was hoping they would see
my wings turn into ashes.
I was hoping
they would wonder why the fire
that was once in my eyes
was now burning
the life
out of me.
They want to know
why you’re feeling sad,
but when you finally speak,
they make you wish
that you never spoke.
I come to the coffee shop
when I have no one to meet,
and I sip on my coffee
slowly.
I look out the window
waiting for no one to come,
slowly.
I can’t remember when
I stopped waiting for
someone.
And I can’t remember when
I started finding love
in my pen and paper,
in the lipstick stain on
the rim of my coffee cup.
I can’t remember when
I started finding love in myself
and stopped waiting to find it
in someone else.
You’re not the only one
who’s not happy.
Trust me.
All you see is what you want
but don’t have.
People like you are hiding
behind smiles,
pretending to be happy
while they’re wondering
why they don’t have what
others have,
just like you are.
Some hearts ache from holding
too much hatred.
Mine aches from holding
too much love.
You may not see them suffer
like they made you suffer.
But believe me,
their biggest punishment
is that they are who they are.
Your heart might be in pain right now,
but it will heal.
It will heal.
You will heal.
I don’t even know
what I want anymore.
I want love,
but not just anyone’s love.
And men fall for me
like dead leaves in autumn.
I want them to fall
for me,
but I don’t want to catch them.
I don’t want
them.
Is it fear?
&n
bsp; Or is it me wanting to know
what it feels like to have someone
fall off a cliff
flat on their face
as I once did for someone
who enjoyed watching me fall
only to walk away
the moment I hit the ground?
The moment that my soul shattered
and I was no longer
the person
I used to be?
A man I barely knew
looked at the tears
that built a home in my eyes
and said:
“Your soul is too beautiful
for you to cry.”
That’s when my tears
escaped my eyes
and I said:
“How will my soul be pure
the pain with my tears?”
I just want to breathe,
and I am gasping for air,
but my lungs feel too small.
I guess that is what happens when
your lungs enter
survival mode—
they breathe only as much
as they need
to stay alive.
This air that wants to
enter you
and this love that wants to enter you
have no room to stay inside of you.
That’s why it’s so hard
for you to accept
new love.
It’s too much to handle.
Your insides have been
the home of abuse
for so long
that love hurts
as it enters.
The parts of me
that want to care
are too hurt
to even pretend to care.
I feel that I am on the verge
of disappearing,
of surrendering into nothingness,
of accepting that I am worth
absolutely nothing
and that I deserve what happened to me.
And everything that it did to me.
I have no power.
Where do I get it from?
I am broken
beyond repair.
There is no going back
to the person I was before.
There is rebirth,
rebuilding,
reinventing,
and soul stitching
with gold
that needs to happen.
Your sensitivity is not a sign of weakness. Your sensitivity makes you beautiful. It makes you unique. You see, we live in a world where it’s easier to pretend that you don’t feel, and if you dare express that you feel, you become an easy target to be picked on and hurt. So, from a young age, you’re taught that strength means hiding how you feel, or not expressing your feelings at all. I want you to ask yourself, if you don’t feel, how can you truly love? If you don’t feel, how can you empathize with the tragedies happening in the world? If you are sensitive to being disrespected, it means that you will not disrespect others because you know how it feels to be disrespected. If you are sensitive to being ignored or lied to, you will not ignore or lie to others because you know how it feels to be ignored and lied to. Promise yourself from today to be at peace with your sensitivity. Instead of trying to hide it, cherish it.
The one who broke you
cannot heal you.
Sometimes
we, the fixers,
need fixing too.
Sometimes
we, the givers,
need gifts too.
Your heart broke
in pieces.
It will heal
in pieces
too.
A voice from within me
roars
and lifts me
from the rubble
that I’ve become.
It lifts me from this darkness
I’ve been in for far too long.
It reminds me that my eyes
have adapted to the dark
but there is so much more for me to see.
Even when it feels like the end,
it’s not the end.
You are bigger than
what’s pulling you down.
Shake the ashes
off your wings and
rise.
Fly.
Soar.
When they make the mistake
and you have to apologize,
know that there is a problem
and walk away.
What turns into
hatred
was never
love.
The world took care of me when
I believed that I didn’t deserve
to be cared for.
An end
does not have to be
the end.
Give your heart time to heal.
The poison of pain took time to enter.
It will take time to leave.
It’s okay for you
to be angry about
what happened to you.
Just don’t let your anger
make you like the one
who broke you.
Stay true to yourself.
Just as you need to
own your pain,
you need to
own your healing.
Just because they took advantage
of your kindness,
you do not
blame your kindness
for the pain.
Your kindness
is not weakness.
Their taking advantage
is weakness.
It’s easier for them to believe
that something is wrong with you
than it is for them to believe
that something wrong happened to you.
You are only a threat to
those who don’t believe in
their
own worth.
You are bigger than
the place that did not welcome you.
The person who rejected you.
The humans who did not value you.
You are bigger.
Don’t lose yourself
looking for love inside
of someone else.
If you lose yourself,
no one else’s love will
make you feel whole or
found or
home.
My home will never welcome me
if I don’t welcome myself.
Your biggest loss was me.
My biggest loss was me.
There is no going back
to the moments when you fell in love
with me.
You can never
unscar me.
The damage is done.
I must love my new self.
My scars are witnesses
that I never gave up.
You fell out of love
with me
so the world
could fall in love with me.
What they did to you will never
be okay.
But you will be.
Forgiving them frees you,
not them.
You will stay
in ashes
if you base your rising
on their apology.
If I am not worth your apo
logy,
you are not worth me carrying
the pain that you caused me.
So I will forgive you, not for you
but for me.
I deserve to let go.
I deserve to be free of your pain.
And if you
can’t admit your own mistakes,
I will not allow the ashes that your pain
turned me into
to hold me hostage.
Don’t forgive them because
you have to
but because you want to.
And don’t forgive them when
you have to
but when you are ready.
You can’t erase
what happened to you,
but you can choose
to put it behind you,
under your feet,
and rise like
the hero you are.
You owe it to the glory within you
to become so much more
than who
they
want
you
to be.
The reason is coming.
Don’t wait.
You’ll slow down
its arrival
if you do.
There is a heart inside of you
waiting to be loved by you.
Don’t let it down.
Don’t let yourself down.
You will never heal from a pain
that you don’t admit you have.
You will never heal from a pain
that you don’t
allow yourself to feel.
Give yourself approval before
you expect it from someone
else.
I sat down with my words.
I wanted to write about you
just once more.
My words revolted.
They refused to help.
They abandoned me,
just as you did.
And just as I chased after
what I thought was left of
us,
I chased after them.
My words told me
that they no longer wanted
to be about you.
They said
it was a disgrace for them