I don’t hate you
I should. I don’t.
there are words and sentences even I am afraid to utter
in the comfort of my own body in a pitch black room.
all eyes are on me
I’m not doing it fast enough
I’m not over you well enough
I can’t get enough
of your mid-morning embrace and the way it felt
when your eyes were only on me.
when I found out you fucked her, you were in the back of a police car
and I was more scared for your safety than the wholeness of my heart.
correction * when I found out you fucked my best friend,
my entire world went black
you have never said I’m sorry or I love you
without it sounding like a fucking curse and I can’t explain
what it means to know I have wasted these months
getting wasted for you to fucking like me
I was happy and carefree and high
off of sugary coffee and the fluorescent thought of you and I
that imprinted itself into the back of my skull.
you were all I thought about
pleasing you was not an option, but a command.
we had our ending, a late night on the same mattress
stained with memories and the girl I left here when you kissed me
the first time. I am not happy and you do not make me happy.
you make me hurt – I look at you and feel pain.
I don’t hate you. I wish I could. I don’t.
you have given me reason upon reason to hate every inch of your skin
but I’m loosening the strings that tug on my heart to let this go.
I’m letting go of the stranger I met, who corrupted me into thinking
I could put you before myself.
I am tired of being sad that I am not what you want
I have accepted I am not what you ever wanted.
I’m going to take that as a blessing, although it is heavily disguised.
(I wrote this about two weeks ago. Update: I fucking hate you, Ryan. I will never forget what you did and who you hurt.)