Bathroom Conversations

Today as I cried in the bathroom, I thought, “Why would He bring me here?” He could have had everything else happen to and for me and I am here. It isn’t the first time too. I sat there hoping to silence my tight sobs as I realized I’d been here before. And how being here made me want peace so badly.

I found myself asking, “You’ve made nice love stories for everyone except me.” Me whom you continue to elevate everywhere else except romance. You’ve taken sad stories and made them “awwww” worthy; you’ve taken people who have zero interest in you and given them “true love”, and still I am here. It is painful. It tests me. Why won’t you love me enough to give me clarity on what could be? Is this my lesson to be courageous and walk away or is this my lesson to trust you blindly and have you walk me through this? Or is this you simply drumming into my head that the imagery in my head and my plans are certainly, not aligned with what you have and that I must endure this. Maybe this is about my ego and my pride. Maybe this is about how much I have focused too hard on myself that my “self” must gain before I approve that this is what is best. Is this supposed to humble me?

I don’t know. But for whatever reason our meeting room has become the bathroom in my office, now that my heart is broken beyond repair and as it breaks yet again, I just can’t do it anymore.

The Last One

Do I love you? You ask this as if a woman who didn’t would be doing the crazy things I am. And you don’t see it. And I have accepted that the universe does this party trick called “right person wrong time”. Sadly at the end of this trick, there is no “ahhhh” or “aha!” just silence. Deafening silence. Or a bunch of whatsapp statuses trying to hurt you and a bunch of cuss words because proper words fail when your heart is breaking.

Do I love you? Do you hear my heart being skinned off of its flesh? No. No you don’t. Partially deaf? We’ll never know. Here is a picture: It sounds like breathless sobs being cut short by empty promises and being stabbed in the throat by lies and betrayal of trust. Communication is key huh? Yeah, so you drive the key into my chest- silence, your favourite language. I have not even the slightest of energy to make a loud cry. No point, when my tears fall shamefully into the palm of the man who seems to not see. Not see anything wrong with his actions.

Do I love you? You ask like I haven’t stood there and watched you do with her, all the things I wish you would with me. And stayed loyal to a fault. Now I wish I hadn’t. Now my loyalty, once a quality I was so proud of is the reason for my pain; my disappointment and my anger.

Do I love you? With everything said above, I have concluded that… I cannot give anything more. Whatever love is to you, pursue it. Maybe, maybe our definitions differ. While mine consists of openly communicating with clarity and honesty, yours is about carefully crafting things so much, you run out of the love component and hurt people instead.

Do I love you? After this? Maybe about time I keep something to myself. You might just be the best collection of poetry. And I’ll name it, “Things my daughter needs to know about men like you”.

No title….yet

I think he is afraid that if he felt my heartbeat in my chest, he would never let me go; that he would fight tooth and nail to keep me breathing.

I think he is afraid that he will learn love to a depth he has yet to discover.

I think he is afraid that I will taste like sunsets and he will dive into me and never come up for air.

I think he is afraid that I will bring chaos that will turn his world upside down and he will not regret it.

I think he is afraid that I will want him twice as hard and love him just as good.

I think he is afraid of receiving love, he is not afraid to give it.

Severed ties

Ties forever severed
On a cold platter served.
Her heart uncovered,
Feelings unreserved.

He dove undercover,
Played ‘the man she deserved’.
She said he was forever,
He had something else planned.

She was her other four leaf clover,
But she played to his plan.
By the time this blew over,
She was the biggest joke in the land.

Life, painfully uncovered,
The true intent of this man.
Ties forever severed,
On a cold platter served.

Show M E

Show me where she burned you.
Show me where she stabbed you.
Show me where she cut you.
Show me where…

Show me where it hurts.
Show me the scars,
The wounds still open
And the grazed heart you keep.

Show me if I am welcome.
Show me how damaged you are.
And then go ahead
And show me your flaws.

Show me the parts of you that you are proud of.
Show me your favourite memories.
Show me your dreams.
Show me the people you love.

Show me what makes your heart beat faster.
Show me your bare skin and your map of scars,
Show me your heart you keep in a glass jar;
Show me your soul and its burnt out stars.

Show me your naked laugh-
Unfiltered, unapologetic, unclothed and loud.
Show me the dark;
The places you’ve created, far.

Show me your hands
And teach them to hold mine.
Show me your eyes,
Unveiled from the need to be strong.

Show me if you wish
If I am worthy of the story you have written
Show me the bits that you fear
Show me, let me hear.

Her Pretty Eyes

They think that her pretty eyes
and her pretty face are testament to a pretty life.
None of that, true.

Beyond those dark brown eyes are stories of pain,
of loss,
of hatred,
of hardship,
of the need for courage.

Beyond that pretty face are the nastiest of remarks heard,
the brutality of clenched fists
and force filled objects.

Beyond that pretty face,
are the unpretty stories,
the unseen tears,
the well put together brokenness.

She was an average girl,
with laughter that warmed your soul,
and humour that cracked you up,
but beneath the mask was a girl trapped
and gasping for air in every giggle.

She was a tower of strength
and a source of courage,
the kind that she needed;
the kind she desperately craved.

She hoped that in making them all feel okay,
that she would find her peace,
her calm,
and her healing.

She hoped that one day,
one fine day,
her pretty eyes and pretty face
will be testament to the pretty life she lived.

Show Me the Ropes

And tonight the thought hit me harder than ever. After years of absence, I got cornered again.

They handed me the rope and told me to jump. I looked over and the darkness was inviting.

I reached over and I grabbed the rope. I climbed high enough to put my head through the noose and dared my self to kick the chair away. And I…. ​

I heard a voice whisper, “Exodus 14:14”

 

The Ghost of You

I hear in the wind, a whisper.
Its rise and its fall spells out my name.
I long for it to be the voice of you,
and I turn in the hopes to hold you.
But it is another rendition of the emptiness I already know. 

I feel your warmth in the air around me.
That’s as good as it gets and I want more.
Am I being selfish?
That I want more from your absence?
Your absence fills my chest; too tight and I want to cut it to breathe.
But I’m addicted to pain, the emptiness, the weeping and the constant dazing.

There are days I have conversations with you
and there are nights I’m so convinced I’m dreaming,
but I find myself holding onto you for life.
I breathe on your hair, and you squeeze my face with your yummy, tiny hands.
I see you, I swear I do ! 

Its the love that melted me, that was the same love that froze my love.
And I look to the shadows, to find the ghost of you…

The Breaking of A Beautiful Dawn

Most people claim to become heartless after a heartbreak.
I think that’s the cheapest excuse to treat someone new in your life, wrong.
I think that having experienced a heartbreak makes you the better person.

It proves that you feel;
it proves that you are strong enough to trust yourself to be vulnerable;
it proves that your deeds of affection and
your feelings are deeper than you ever thought they were.

Heartbreaks are a show of strength.
Heartbreaks are an even better reason to power on, knowing you are worthy of love, and you are capable of love.

A heartbreak is never a loss, but a chance to reflect, and a chance to grow.
A heartbreak is a great excuse for light to seep through the cracks and illuminate.

“Most people claim to be heartless after a heartbreak. I think that’s a cheap excuse.”

Yvette Renagi