Here I am.

Here I am the usual time of day
where I'd be sitting in your car.
Or your coach.
Or your kitchen counter.
Here I am sitting at school alone.
Here I am trying to distract my mind from the ever present reminder that you're watching Master Chef without me.
That you're lying in bed, your body entangled with thought, instead of me.
That you're making a lunch for one, and you grabbed two drinks before you remember our party of two divorced and suddenly you're not thirsty anymore.
Here I am begging my mind to stop remembering the way you taught me how to play ping pong or appreciate music so foreign to my ears.
Pleading my body to stop longing to be cuddled between sheets,
My hands to stop longing to be held in our exact way,
My head to stop longing to share a pillow with you.
Here I am knowing I need to grow.
I need to think for the long term.
I need to learn to be happy.
I need to allow you to smile.
I need to try to be good enough.
I need to stop attempting to live in ignorant bliss.
But god, this pain is unimaginable.
Everyday I think it will be better and
Everyday I think it will cross my mind less and
Everyday I pray for an alternative form of pain.
Here I am, continuing to crave to build anger towards you because anger is so much less powerful than sadness.
Hate is so much easier than love.
Fighting is so much kinder than a total cut off of communication.
Losing a long term love is as hard as a baby's first steps,
Losing a best friend is as difficult as the first day of kindergarten,
But losing both is like losing a piece of yourself.
Here I am, trying to think of solely me.
But for so  long it was WE.
I don't remember a world in which it was solely I.
I was obsessed by your attention and driven by your approval.
I am still constantly seeking to make you happy, and even though I know I deserve my own happiness,
I will still be wound tight to urge your jack and the box of joy to pop and sing like the star spangled banner at a soldiers funeral.
Here's a thought: Why didn't we get a funeral?
Why doesn't our loss deserve a celebration of the beauty it was?
Why doesn't our pain grant a field of mourners dressed in black?
Why doesn't our overwhelming thick amount of tension and unspoken words merit a casket of tears and poems and lost kisses?
There was a death in our goodbyes.
Here I am hoping one day you wake up and understand how hard I worked to be who you wanted.
And how much I fucking loved you.
And how dearly I cared for you and your admiration.
Here I am praying that you could have an epiphany that I, my dear, was the best thing to ever stumble into your life.
Although I lust after such thoughts to bloom and sprout from your beautiful little mind,
Above all I will learn to be perfectly content,
As long as your days are filled with sunshine dances and chocolate hearts and earth shattering laughter.
As long as you can be a fraction of as happy as I once made you.
My poetry is not toxic.
I am not toxic.
Our love was not toxic.
Here I am breathing in the toxicity of the way the wheels of my brain turn and the voice of a fucked up insecurity telling me:
You can't do this.
You can't go on.
You're doing nothing for him.
You aren't good enough.
You're a piece of shit.
You'd be better off dead.
That is something, my sweet darling, you have wonderfully tried to understand and unfortunately never can.
I have these monsters who have found a home in my faulting organs.
Tiny beings consumed by their nature of hate and pain.
Their names are depression.
Loneliness.
Anxiety.
And now....heartbreak.
My heart is undeniably cracked by the force of your crying voice.
And all these little savage creatures guided a blade to flesh in desperation.
Forced an inferiority complex to camp out in my heart when it's decaying bud begins to blossom.
Compelled panic to send fleeting shocks down my spine.
Obliged itself to create storms from my eyes and tornados of my breath.
Here I am worried the strength I built up like an aging willow tree,
will blow down in the rain.
That monsters will spawn weakness inside of me.
Terrified of living my life without a mans love because I fuck things up out of terror that every man will shape shift into my father.
I am a strong woman.
You were my loving companion.
Now I mourn for the death of us.
For the decaying body with our broken hearts and flood of tears and nosebleeds and mucus,
Because love is not always pretty.
Love can not be defined in a couple of words or shown in a single picture.
Love is supplying me with the greatest of pain right now,
because it gave me the closest view of happiness my body would allow me to feel.
Here I am, right now.
Reminiscing on our greatest of memories and all of the never agains and used to bes.
Here I am, loving you completely.
Here I am, doing everything I can to try to know what it's like to be happy.