As I prepare my lips to speak the unspeakable, my eyes start to water because they know my tongue is about to introduce you to my shadow; that darker part of me that I see every time I close my eyes and do what some call dream. It’s more like a daily nightmare though. My heart dances in circles and zig-zags and criss-crosses to the beat of your name and yet she cannot tell you how she loves you. You see, even though love has a mist of a beautiful fragrance, hers is masked by the stench of her past. Its surrounded by that grass that looks far from being greener on the other side because it hasn’t seen a spring in years. She’s ashamed of the fact that the number of hands and heads that have explored her island out-number the number of fingers attached to my palms. My heart hangs on by duct tape and cardboards, be careful not to trip over the torn up floorboards. Though I was molested more than years ago, my past never left me as I let my molester do it over and over and over again. She now had a different sex and her face changed a million times but her mission was always the same. Those many people that penetrated my name and spit on my dreams of one day saving it for someone like you. They weren’t just penetrating my depths, but they were penetrating my innocence, my hopes and dreams, until all that was left was my insecurities. I remember the exact moment in time my heart not only took a liking to you, but started to love you. But she feels inadequate and it’s not her fault; it’s those many people that came before you that told her that she was unloveable, deemed her untouchable while touching what little treasure she had left. You see, I want to tell you that I love you, but my heart already decided that she’s not good enough to be loved back because when giving you the pieces of her confetti that she has left, they come attached with the shadows she calls her past. So you have to understand that when I say I think I’m not good enough for you, it’s because I cannot give you what they have already stole from me. My treasure box is no longer priceless because they placed prices on it ages ago. My heart is nothing but worn out rags held together by duct tape, clothes pins, and glue and I’d be crazy to believe that someone would see the beauty in that… not even someone as beautiful as you.
Trapped in that prison again… Back to that same place that I’ve been, again, back when our only thing was our everything…
Exchanging my pains from my veins like rain chilling on a window pane to the main page of my tumblr.
This blog is my lyrical frustration because the duration of my pain remains like a sturdy foundation that I so dearly wish would break.
Can I have a penny of your thoughts as a donation to my love dehydration because I am desperate for a love fixation.
I’ve lost before, but never in a manner such as this, I wish I could let it go. It hurts so bad to hold on to a love lost but the cost of forgetting you seems so much greater.
Lord, forgive me for holding on to something that you are trying to pull a part. Blame it on my heart, that thing that should make better decisions, but she’s not the mind so we must not confuse her with being smart.
Lord forgive me for my sins, the lack of confidence within that lets men get in and up, up, and away with something so precious as my innocence.
Just like your virginity, the innocence is gone the first time you lose it, let them snatch the only good part of you and keep it movin, your life goes the way you chose it.
But what if it wasn’t your fault? What if as a child you got caught in the middle of a crazy woman’s addiction, bringing life as you knew it to a hault and even though you fought, it still didn’t keep her from molesting you.
Where do I store these tears? Years of abuse that you could probably accept from any other, take it farther, your father, but wouldn’t have ever expected your mother to be the enemy.
People find love in a hopeless place, but I’m running a hopeful race praying that my pain in that darker place doesn’t catch up to me.
To lose your first love in the early days always hurts in many of ways. And as you search your brain to find the root to your pain, the reason why you couldn’t stay, You feel ashamed that you loved someone that much…And that the skeletons in your closet still have the power to cripple you.
Before I start I must say that I am grateful for the days
And how Your love heals all things in magnificent ways
But Lord I am in one of those difficult pains
And a cascade of windy tears; an emotional hurricane
I searched through the rubble, searched through the remains
And tried to find the beginning and who I was to blame
Who is at fault for the reason why I am afraid
Why am I an unlovable loved individual suffering from a heart sprain
Is it because of my mother that walked out in those early days?
Or because of what my unknown father didn’t show me or explain
I can’t seem to find the color in the midst of these grays
And I’m just trying to find the source of what is making me insane
Nothing seems to come up when I search my brain
And not one thing comes up when they trace the pain through my veins
Lord please help me, I am in one of those difficult pains
In the midst of a cascade of windy tears, an emotional hurricane
Cut me loose from these crippling chains
So that one day I will know how it feels to breathe again.
All those days chasing down a daydream. Praying that God will rescue me from from my struggling reality. He doesn’t understand the pain she feels loving without her heart, but she plays her part, loving from a distance, wishing love never got its start. Days, months, and weeks passed and still she can’t get ahead. While she awaits the days that he’ll no longer matter, she plays the loyal friend instead. When daydreams become a nightmare…
Protected from the world she wrapped herself in cement. Wouldn’t dare let another break down the walls to the world that she felt most comfortable in. She taught herself survival skills, how to be a people person and how to laugh, but also how to protect herself against words. The world is cruel. Surely people didn’t know how to talk to each other. She learned how to talk like them, coated her tongue in sarcasm and nonchalant armor. People will take jabs but they’ll have to prepare themselves for the lashing she’d release if they crossed her. She was protecting a deeper kind of pain. No one knew how to protect her wounds but her. But one day she wanted to love someone but her wall was in the way. She understood that the only way to recovery was to love through the pain… But it hurt too much…