You know, I thought if I just kept writing about my pain
That the pain would get better
That I would get better
That maybe by sharing my hurt
I wouldn’t hurt anymore
But the truth is that
poetry doesn’t make it hurt any less
It just puts the hurt on a new canvas
And calls it art
On a paper or the walls
Or in the safety of my notes app
But that doesn’t mean it goes away
And maybe you can forget it for a while
Or maybe you can cry until the words become smudges on the paper
and you have to write it again,
But no one ever said you couldn’t write the poems again.
So here I am
writing again for myself this time
And not writing for you
Or any of the other people who have hurt me
Though I doubt they'd remember me anyway
Because they never really remember
You see we only remember the times we’ve been wronged
So we rarely recall the ways we’ve wrong others
And I suppose that’s for our survival
To remember the pains and the poisons
To avoid ever repeating the same mistakes
But that doesn’t keep me from wanting to repeat them anyways.
At least sometimes
Wanting to remember the soft touch of their lips or to the feeling of their hands in mine
Or the way their laugh could light up a room like sunrise
But then I remember how generic all those things really were
How any man can hold my hand if they want to
How any man can kiss my lips if I let them
And how any laugh can light up a room when you are in love with their light.
So maybe I was in love
But I’ll never admit it now
And just like how the guilt of my own careless existence sends shivers down my pencil
So too does the pain of knowing I deserved better.
I am tired of breaking off pieces of myself to fix the broken in someone else
I am building my own temple this time
My own marble kingdom
On my own solid ground
And perhaps I’ll have to tear down my history first
Tear down the foundations of the person I used to be
In this decrepit brick apartment
On the precarious edge of a mental breakdown.
Shed the skin of the person I used to be
No matter how much it hurts
No matter the blood or the tears
No matter how vulnerable it makes me feel
Shedding the layers like lobsters, and crabs, and lizards, and snakes.
We are most vulnerable when we’ve let go of our past.
But it’s only to prepare for how strong we are ready to become.
Which is all to say
This is only the beginning