My eyes burn from the tears I’m not crying
because I swore
I wouldn’t let what you did
hurt me anymore.
My hands are balled into fists
that won’t punch any walls.
The cracks in my heart not longer reflected
in brickwork
or frames of doors.
My mouth is pursed,
from words I’ll no longer let myself say.
I won’t pay any more lip service
to all the hell you raised.
But my heart remains open,
though still slightly bruised,
to accept the love from another,
and this time, it’s a love I choose.
I have been broken before.
Broken into so many pieces
I may as well have been
dust
on the floor.
Not the pretty “fill it with gold”
kind of broken either.
The ugly crying on the bathroom floor
in the cold,
kind of broken.
And not just once either. Numerous times.
Sometimes just a hairline fracture.
Sometimes nothing more than a bruised ego.
But sometimes, my heart completely ruptured.
And how do you recover?
Still put one foot in front of the other?
I have no answers,
But I know that I did it.
Some people might say,
my heart is still broken,
if I still write these words.
But I say,
the cracks left in my heart
were nothing short of a road map
that led me
to her.
I’m lost at sea and don’t know where to find me.
Thought I’d moved on and left it all behind me.
But it creeps up on me in the night,
Not out of mind or out of sight.
It still hits me like a train and still blindsides me.
When do you know that part of you is dead and gone for good?
I’m stumbling, can’t find my feet, nor see the trees for wood.
Will it be hours or months or days?
I have no idea who gets to say.
But right now it feels like it’s still crawling, swimming through my blood.
And when will it stop?
How will I know?
When I thought I’d reached the top of everything that I had ever known.
When can I breathe?
Or let go and scream?
When will this feeling go?
And how will I know?
Sometimes I feel I’ve taken two steps forward and three back.
It’s hard to feel like I am safe when I’m running off the tracks.
What’s next for me – promethazine?
To quell the nausea slowly killing me.
So I’ll keep avoiding manhole covers and all the pavement cracks.
I’ve reached the point I no longer have the patience.
To be polite and maybe not just say this –
You fucked me up, yes you with the beard,
You led me on for all those years.
But is it me that’s left to blame for my complacence?
And when will it stop?
How will I know?
When I thought I’d reached the top of everything that I had ever known.
When can I breathe?
Or let go and scream?
When will this feeling go?
And how will I know?
I think it’s slowly hitting me
not in the way a wave hits you
washing over you
rushing up to meet your skin.
An old friend.
No, not like that.
I think it’s slowly hitting me
the way an HGV would
slowly
hit
you.
All of a sudden.
And in slow motion
at the same time.
I’ve been anticipating this impact
for so long now.
Bracing myself, muscles tensed,
that I almost don’t believe it’s over.
That I can relax now
drop my shoulders
unclench my jaw
let go.
Yesterday,
when I eventually put the phone down,
I could finally
pick myself back up
from where I left myself.
Those 11 years ago.
I would prize Wildwood Kin, from your little sweaty palms,
I would eat more healthily,
I would dance more often,
and refuse to let you talk over me.
I would shake my former self
look her straight into the eyes
and say, is this what you think you’ve been searching for
all your goddamn life?
I would remove those tinted glasses
and see you for what you are,
an emotionally-stunted man-child
who just happens to play guitar.
I’d take you off your pedestal,
where you’d comfortably made your nest.
I’d tell you truths like, I’m not sure I want to have biological children
and bathe in the disgust your face expressed.
I’d stop hiding my truth to please you,
unafraid of causing upset
confidently proclaim my moral views
and calmly watch you sweat.
I’d grab my former self,
lace up my running shoes,
take her by the hand
and run far away from you.
You always said you’d eventually learn how to dance with me, but you always had an excuse. You just didn’t care for the things I was passionate about. Red flag number 10.
You never cared for, or tried to understand, my love of Taylor Swift. I know that might sound petty. But it was important to me, and you openly mocked it. Red flag number 9.
You said you didn’t like tattoos, but you would make exceptions for my small ones. Well, now I have a big one. So fuck you. Red flag number 8.
We had similar tastes in music, but only when it came to folk and country. Anything else and I felt I had to filter my music choice around you. Because it was “too mainstream”. You always took the high ground when it came to music. Red flag number 7.
Your political views were the right ones, and no amount of debating would tell you otherwise. You took the high horse there too. Red flag number 6.
I was terrified of doing my pre-flight injections by myself, so I offered to pay for your megabus and the additional cost of the flight, for you to fly from Heathrow with me. To support me. But you outright refused. Red flag number 5.
You could never have a healthy disagreement. You’d bury your head in the sand at the first sign of conflict. Sweep it under the carpet. Until it blew up in our faces. Red flag number 4.
You made empty promises. The main one being that you’d always support me, no matter what. Red flag number 3.
One night, after weeks of my mental health rapidly declining, you said you’d rather go out and get drunk with another girl than come home to me. Red flag number 2.
You cheated on your girlfriend of four years to be with me.
Red flag number 1.
Your hand in mine
Our fingers intertwined
We’re both in too deep
And we hold on tight
So we don’t drift apart
As we drift off to sleep
Lips parting soft lips
Delicate, sweetness
You taste like fresh morning
Like nothing could come between this
Noses touching
Eyes out of focus
And I dont care anymore
Soft whispers between the sheets
I’ll count the ways I love you
But we’re not keeping score
Accidentally saying i do
Has become a bit of an in-joke
But we’re not joking anymore
I think we both already know
An ember
Turned to a spark
Then a wildfire
Through the forest of my haunted heart
Palm to palm
And cheek to cheek
Tangled in bedsheets
This is us now
You and me ♥️
Things got very dark for me in the six months since I returned from living abroad.
I’m coming out the other side now.
I read back through the poems/pieces I wrote back then, and I feel like I’ve put some distance between how I was then, and how I feel now.
I’m healing. Slowly. But slow progress is still progress.
And I don’t want to delete those poems either. Because my feelings were valid at the time. And still are valid now.
But I’m doing better.
Touch wood. Because I still have OCD, don’t I?
(And for any of you wondering, love exists after heart break. And it’s even sweeter for it.)
interstitial.
the spaces in between.
the pauses in conversation when
we catch each other’s eye
and our breath
and we each know what that look means.
my hands, i now see
like pieces of a jigsaw
where i know the spaces between my fingers
would fit perfectly
with yours.
the gaps between messages at 1am
i’ll stay awake for in this silence
to see “typing” followed by three dots…
in this deafening storm, you’re an island.
i may have many broken pieces
but without those shattered parts
where would this interstitial love grow,
but within the cracks of a mending heart?
The final few rays of a dwindling winter sun
The crest of a wave before it rushes up to meet the sand
The embers of a dying bonfire
And an outstretched hand.
A tree clinging onto the last few leaves of autumn
Breath catching in your throat
A question mark lingering in the conversation
Lying back in the Mediterranean sea, drifting and afloat.
The pips of voicemail as a phone call goes ignored
The red wine stains on the rim of your glass
Three dots, typing
A reply that isn’t coming back.
Turned down pages of a book of old poetry
The first few drops of rain before a storm
The hovering second hand of a clock as it just passes midnight
A half drunk cup of coffee, gone luke-warm.
An imperfect cadence
And a chance not taken
The imperceptible sound
Of another heart breaking.
stormsinteacups 