Pitiless, Penniless, and Free.

Perhaps you will not have to brace yourself for impact. We know how all things that are not meant to be end. At the beginning, we are so full of wistful expectation that we fail to see the oncoming doom in all its glory.

You were not meant for me.

I whisper this thought internally, because saying it out loud will force me to accept its reality. If I keep it to myself–maybe we can escape the anger and pain that comes when people disappoint you. Maybe being silent keeps us of ignorant of the truth.

But we both know this isn’t true.

Instead, silence rears its ugly head at the exact moment you need to speak. It glances over restoration and latches onto apathy. Now I do not care to fight anymore or try to make things work when I have given all I’ve got and you sat there unchanging.

Famous for painting pictures that no one else can see.

Pity comes from a place of superiority. You “feel bad” for someone–but fail to see how close you are to your own painful story. I was broken in ways that I will never repeat.

Now all I want is to be set free.

 

Reality. (300 words)

Pull me back to reality. Because as of right now—I have given my whole attention to this alternate universe that only leaves me feeling incomplete. I stand up in my unhappiness, and look around. Seeing the anger and frustration I chose to bury.

Wondering if I will ever find my way back out.

Now, the ground quakes with rage and I know it is only a matter of time before I crumble beneath this pressure of my own doing. Eventually, we all must answer for the raw nerves we neglected to cover. But I am never given the opportunity.

When I am not actively healing, I like to believe I am living in a place where nothing goes wrong. I sleep through the night and spend productive days hoping to “do better” when the chance comes my way. I pick up my cross and carry on.

But I am just as broken as I was last year when I had to accept that I was on my own.

Some nights I dream of the innocent souls I sacrificed for illicit conversation. I think of the crimes I committed when I was unrecognizable to even me. Most people do not try to see the full picture. I am guilty of focusing on the side that favored my parts in the story.

It means nothing to say you will be there, or to pledge allegiance when you do not have to prove yourself. It is easy to believe you are the martyr, when you refuse to acknowledge another person’s scars.

I am guilty of caring too much about other people. And I am guilty of not doing more for my self. But I will set this Earth on fire, before I burn my light out for anyone else.

Patient Lines.

 

I am waiting patiently with bated breath
for you to tell me I am different. That in
all of the numerous love affairs from your life–
I am the only one you could never set free.
I crave wistful imagination and wide
set eyes of hopelessly smitten affection.

I wanted you to look over at me in
the middle of the night with
a vibrant sort of expression.

But I am the one who lies awake–staring
at the cracks in my ceiling while you sleep
blissfully unaware next to me.
From the moment that I was able to believe
in love, I always thought those who are meant
to be were connected by more than just feelings.

We tread the line somewhere between
wishful thinking and absolute destiny.
Stacking expectation until it all falls down.

Can we exist in moderation? Will walking
narrow paths fit our individual goals?
Or are we squeezing the right shapes
into completely wrong holes?

I honestly do not know.

I just hope we learn to recover,
before we are forced to let go.

Flames of Glory.

Flames of glory for the one who lost all control.
I picture this broken body with its propensity to feed
off my soul. Truth bears down on me, forcing me to
overcompensate. For my vanity. For my sadness.
For the bittersweet memory of my never forgotten
mistakes. You dropped your intentions in the middle
of a losing battlefield. Breaking dawn with our
destructive tendencies. I create out of darkness
what you can only obtain in peace. They said
there is no real hope for you or for me.
Tears wet my face as I violently shake the truth
from my mind. We are better together, no matter
what happened the last time. I wish declaring
what you wanted had the power to set you free.
But smoke is in the way and this fire is all-consuming.

Losing Battles.

I wish I could call off this spiritual battle
between light and darkness that wages
its constant war within me. My dark night
no longer relents or gives way to the dawn
I was promised, in the morning. Instead, I
have bloodshot eyes that do not recognize
joy or eternal happiness. Do not pity me.

It was written that some will perish,
some will rise, and still others will die
before their expected time. This means
more to the ones who are doing the dying.

I wish I knew how to live in a deep well of
pain without affecting the people around me.
Maybe I could feign peace or acquiesce to
their expectations of health and pretend to be
perfectly well–but I am not in the business of
letting myself find strength in the arms of
another. Or in the habit of trying to recover.

I do not know how to restore what was taken
or apologize for what I’ve forsaken or fix the
brokenness from the arrows that penetrated
my heart before I even knew how to fight.

But I know I am empty. Barren and bereft.
Helplessly left bleeding in a battlefield that
I did not desire for myself. I wish I knew why
anger and abandonment are the major themes
in my life. Maybe if I knew how to do that,
I could learn to survive.

Broken Grace.

art, broken, poetry, lifeI wonder where you were when I broke down in ways that shattered my future expectations. I reached out, hoping that you could be objective but found your unresponsiveness to be the final nail in my proverbial coffin.

I know I am dramatic–I used to wish
that my feelings did not run so deep
or go so hard. But most people never
recover from the magnitude of this
particular type of loss.

Especially not me.

Forgive me for not being on my best behavior. For taking my war against my obsession too far. Maybe, you are just not familiar with these particular types of scars. I wanted you to understand the
consequences of your decision.
Instead you chose to ignore me
at my worst, throwing
silence in my face when
I really needed you.

You never had the ability
to face the impossible truth.
And now you wonder why
you are broken, too.

Hero Complex (200 Words)

You will not always be the hero in the story.

It is much more likely that you will achieve brand new levels of extraordinary villainy.
You will walk in a self-interested haze without seeing the full picture clearly. You will throw people who have done nothing but love you under the bus. You will try to protect yourself from some unknown threat—only to discover the real threat was you.

You will lose battles you never even knew you were fighting.

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night–and realize I am still dreaming.
I cannot figure out why my thoughts always spill over towards you. It is like my mind is trying to make sense of our current circumstance, when I know I am the inciting spark in all these casualties.

Even heroes have to know when to retreat.

You blame me for leaving as if staying could have facilitated a beneficial change.
There will never be a safe place for us to grow when this impossible choice lingers over our heads. Questions while in the pursuit of the happy ending tempt us to consider the perks of letting go.

But even these dreams must answer to reality.