Learning and Hurting Through Us

I thought about this poem and what to throw under the bus

I realized that the only thing on my mind, was to talk about us.


When I think of the beginning of the end

My hands shake, my breath shakes, my head shakes

at what you were capable of doing.

On the surface you seem smart, sweet, setup for success.

Got everything, but the qualities of a true man.


This was not some hard chemistry or math test, but you cheated.

Told me that there was nothing to worry about, and told me that “I’ve done something equivalent”

Look. I know my faults.

I’ve resurrected a friendship from the past. And I tried to keep in contact with a soul.

I know my faults.

Frankenstein applauded me for trying to piece pieces together to make you my ideal Ken doll.

I know my faults.

But this, this method of maybe getting equal,

was unbelievable.

Vengeance or not, it was evil. 


I cannot walk to certain restaurants, and enjoy a meal. If I knew she enjoyed multiple ones with you and “looked like a meal”.

I can not walk to another bowling alley, because with one effortless flick of the wrist, I know she knocked down pins and rolled a strike into your heart.

I can not jog around the block. Because I know your house is only 5 minutes away from mine. And I know that I was not the only girl to walk into your doors. 

I can not download Twitter, because I found out that with the little power I possessed to keep our fire alive, that social media became my way of presenting passive aggressive power to the world that didn’t ask. I’ve perfected the art of screaming to the wind that “I’m hurt”, without literally saying “I’m hurt”.


I felt the walls of the world caving in. Was this some stupid school fight where a circle watches the two dance around before the storm?

The only difference is? The guy who would do the damage, smiled like nothing was wrong. Smiled as if I were insane to think he’d… cheat.

Bystanders, I’m hurt. How could others know what went on, and watch me be happy wading in the waters of oblivion.


Like an old porcelain doll, I was fragile, and boy… you saw how eager I was to leave.

For some reason, you “want the old me back”?

You tried to shackle me, chain me on to a tree with no roots, branches or leaves left. Leaving me stumped.

Threaten me with self harm

Saying I should envision the worst to come. 

Maybe like a car crashed on to the side of the speedy road.

I was scared.


Like a teen driver behind the wheel for the first time, I’m disappointed with I’ve done. Drove myself around recklessly.

Sometimes I find myself reaching for the things I’ve given away.

I fell for it a million gazillion times, allowing you to be a mastermind, and manipulate me to be soft hearted.
Wanna play the hurt game? I said.

Fine, I’ll call the attention of one from an experienced profession.

Because if I allowed myself to comfort you the same way again,

there will be a never ending road of toxicity. And a relationship based off of walking on eggshells.

When my voice pierced into your ears and into your brain, your threats finally stopped. 


I guess I’m currently in a relationship with my feelings. Call it a friends with benefits.

It would allow me to rest my head in their chest, and cradle my head with that familiar fake love feeling. 

I’m working on forgiveness. I forgive her, but I can’t forgive you just yet. I can’t forgive myself because I dug a grave so penetrated into the earth, that I can’t get out.

I’ll learn how to keep the cold heart from burning right through.

And train my voice to trump over hate, as I build my walls a bit higher.


To any beautiful girl that may walk into his life next,

And perhaps is eager to start something new...

Look into this mason jar. Here are the butterflies that we used to feel. Some of mine are dead.

Look into this mason jar. This is from the waterfall of kisses, he loved to shower me with them.

Finally this is the love. I’m not sure if we can close the lid right now, but when you come into the picture.. Dump it all into the ocean, may this be filled with your own.

To a future new girl, I think these— the butterflies, the kisses and love— belong to you

This poem is about: 
My community


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