Cocoa.

I loved a boy who made me forget who I was.

I kept my mouth shut to please him.

Followed his commands.

I grew distant from friends and family.

I almost threw my life away.

I loved that boy but he only loved a version of me.

The obedient, well mannered, quiet version.

I loved that boy so I tried to be a girl he loved.

The problem is, the version of me that he loved was not the best that I could be.

That boy is gone, has been for years.

But part of me still feels a knife in my side.

Every time a man makes me feel small.

Any time a man makes me feel as though my opinions are too bold, too wrong, too direct.

I am too strong to be made to feel as though my voice does not matter.

 

Fingers.

You are the reason I began to do this.

You were not my first.

You were not my most recent.

But you drove me to write

gushing my thoughts

the tip of my pen burning the pages as I recollected

every aching, self-loathing, miserable feeling I had since you left.

You made me feel worthless.

You filled me with love and then found somebody new.

And now here you are.

Crushed by your love the way you crushed me.

This should feel better than it does.

Concrete.

Bitch.

Something I am labeled as frequently.

I am the epitome of New York.

Hard on the surface, soft at the core.

Get through my metallic, sky scraping exterior and you will find a wealth of life and love.

I would rather be tough and honest

Than be a weakling like you were.

Too weak to confront.

Too cowardly to communicate.

I would rather be a bitch than a lying piece of shit.

Sunday.

I want this so much.

There are so many reasons why this should not or could not happen.

I tell myself I will not let this happen.

I wont laugh, smile, touch, give you any idea that this is an option.

But then I see you, and like ice cream in the sun, I am a puddle.

Laying melted on the floor

I touch your strong arm, laugh at your jokes, smile with both my mouth and eyes.

I am a goner.

Abandonment.

I miss you.

But I had to stop answering.

I hope you understand.

This isn’t about what I want.

Cause god, I want you.

This is about whats best for us in the long run.

I was never going to be your girl.

You were never going to leave her.

It’s hard to get your messages,

To see your face and look away.

But loving you means destroying myself.

And I just can’t do that again.