Thursday, October 24, 2013

Poem: Love to Hurt.


Don’t tell me how to love, you loveless bastard.
Don’t tell me when to, how much to, or who,
So don’t dare tell me that I have to love you.
Don’t tell me- threaten me- that I have to put effort in,
Because maybe that’s the point.
Maybe I’ve had enough.
Had enough of your directed script shoved in my face
     of how I should act,
Had enough of your gift giving,
     only for it to be followed up with words of regret with how you spent      
     your money
Had enough of your non-existent compliments
Had enough of your critiques of my work
Had enough of you playing the victim card
Had enough of your lack of interest,
So I’ve had enough of you.
You’ve invited me in time and time again to be hurt.
You’ll be nice enough, long enough, for me to finally have the courage
     to talk.
Yet only to be shot down like a deer lured in by the hunter’s game
     like a child asking for dessert during dinner
     like a fish brought up out of water
     like wearing a summer outfit on a sunny day only to have the heavens
     open up in pouring fucking rain—
You’ve drenched me.
When I finally talk, you drench me with words of pity—towards yourself
and that you need time and distance
You’ve asked for distance after you’ve invited me in
due to how hurtful I’ve been.
What’s hurtful is that after you’ve invited me in,
     I call you in the middle of the night
     I call you in the middle of the night
     I call YOU in the middle of the night
to cry over confusion and pain of molest
that someone I trusted was in two seconds,
all of a sudden the scariest person in the world.
I had the world (*holds phone*)
and it told me I should be more careful—
     that it was my fault.

In two seconds my world became the most hurtful person.
I hung up the phone, no longer having a world
because the oceans in my eyes were drenching my visibility
cascading into my mouth and suffocating me
giving me earthquakes in my hands so that I couldn’t clutch my
     security blanket from the unforgiving cold of your words.

So I’m sorry
that I’ve walked away
from such a natural disaster.