Emotional Bombs

You fed my insecure, damaged soul

with the dysfunction of your love.

Craving turned into addiction,

for that twisted validation

of my tattered self-worth.

Two magnets,

pushing,

pulling,

pushing,

pulling,

each time more explosive than the last.

Reveling in my feminine power,

I took your weakness as my gratification,

pulling it in with greedy, needy arms.

Sitting next to you,

our legs tightly pressed together,

and yet...

I was alone in my pain and uncertainty.

Putting all my unspoken baggage

on your damaged shoulders.

That night, when you screamed,

“Is this what you wanted?!”

my perfectly constructed glass house shattered

in jagged, brutal self-realization.

And I sat there, alone,

surrounded by tussled sheets

in the absence of your perfect storm.

Metaphorically bloody and bare,

naked and stripped raw,

amidst the destruction of our emotional bombs.

Years later,

I slowly slide into the well of forgiveness.

For me,

for you,

for us,

and the war we waged, together,

for our fractured souls.