Foolishly Broken Hearted
The Truth
Why do I even bother? Why do I even try?
I'm not what you want, I never will be
You've made that perfectly clear without even speaking the words
I'm just what's currently available
Something reliable, something convenient
All because I told you what is in my heart
Everything I have come to feel for you
I should have stopped when I realized you never knew what to say back
The Fool who listened to her heart... again
It was only just a few months ago
When I spent most nights crying myself to sleep
Asking what was wrong with me and how I could continue to keep making the same mistakes
Feeling stupid and used
I am temporary for you
A toy for you to play with whenever you want until you get tired of playing with me
A warm body to fill the space next to you until you find who you truly want
When called upon, I came running back
Arms ready to embrace, heart ready to love, soul ready to heal what is broken
How am I to have the strength to heal you, when I know with each fleeting moment, all the love I give will eventually turn into a slap to the face?
About the Creator
Mercedes Chavez
Come with me, lets go on an adventure together, see the world through my eyes, let me paint a picture with my words, I promise you will be able to feel what I felt the first time I experienced it. Love, sadness and everything in between.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
By Mesh Toraskarabout 8 hours ago in Feast
Comments (2)
Gosh that last line was like a slap to my face! Loved your poem!
And people wonder why I don't look for happiness in relationships...