I no longer had the urge to make parallels or metaphors of broken hearts to broken bones.
I was done with pouring my vulnerability and anger and pure, unadulterated sadness into something so beautiful.
I stopped writing poetry for you.
But now as I look at these yellow lines once vacant and now filled by letters and tears I have realized something.
Your word is no longer shackling me to anything.
I am no longer going to censor myself to spare your feelings.
I love you, that's true.
I care about you, also true.
I never want to hurt you, undoubtedly true.
But I also need to worry about myself.
I am choosing to stop basing my self worth on your hollow glances or sugar drooping words.
I need to start loving the way the sunshine chooses to cast a spotlight on me,
the way my eyes sparkle when I'm performing,
the way my legs fall from under me when I'm nervous or high on laughter and chocolate chips.
I need to choose to love every imperfection on my pale, average, confused body.
To choose to accept the way I hyperventilate and sweat and pant when the stress is thicker than the blood that runs through my veins or I'm crying so hard from a broken heart I don't want to stop to take a life altering breath.
To choose to cherish every smile through tears, every valley that leads to a peak, every good day followed by a bad night.
I am choosing to say, "Fuck expectations and wasted words. You are beautiful and there is no single person in the world like you. That's pretty fucking special."
Love is the prettiest form of expression in the world to me.
But instead of basing my view of the allure of life off of your love for me, I'm going to base it off my love for myself.
Because you know what, I fucking deserved to be loved.
I deserve to have an actual best friend.
I deserve to not be defined by the chemicals in my brain or a doctors diagnosis.
I deserve to not be afraid to kiss someone or look in the mirror.
I deserve to not be nervous to have someone put their hand on my thigh.
And I deserve to know what it's like to truly be happy with who I am.
I loved you so hard I forgot what it was like to actually love myself.
Well, why on Earth would I give broken promises the satisfaction of red lines and teeth grinding stings?
Why would I steal a metal flower from my kitchen to fulfill all of your empty words?
Why would I allow a hammered out broken heart to break more by faulty band aids?
I am not my depression.
I am no one's fucked up perception of me.
I am not the trust I gave you every time I called you crying.
I am ready to feel worthy.
I am ready to feel sufficient.
I am ready to feel magical.
And I can't keep depending on your temporary healing apologies or random chocolate covered small talk to make me feel special that day.
So here's to my first love.
Making me realize how absolutely exhilarating it is to fall in love.
How earth shattering it is to be lied to or deceived or manipulated.
How incredibly difficult it is to transition from the love of your life to a friend.
Here's to my best friend.
For begging me to look in the mirror and cherish the unfamiliar reflection of fear.
For forcing me kindly to let sores heal and keep me from making new ones.
For wanting so much for me to believe in myself half as much as I believed in the tenacity of your heart.
Here's to my current....?
I don't know what you are.
I don't know who I am.
But I do know I need to attempt to fill part of the gap in my heart that was filled by you with pats on my own back, kisses in the mirror, and a little self appreciation.
I'm ready to be dependent on myself.
I'm ready to be fulfilled by myself.
I'm ready to do whatever the fuck I want, and look good as hell while doing it.
No comments:
Post a Comment