I hate that I don’t understand. I gained so much control the past three years, I hate that you just came, one day, in my store and made me lose all of it. I hate the doubting, the questioning, and your inability to admit you’ve hurt me. Because you have. Repeatedly. You know this as well as you know my heart is fragile when you asked to see it.
I hate that you had a print so strong in my heart, that I was unable to write poems about you. I am a writer, I write when it hurts, but you? You where a whole other category. You are your own genre of nonsense I can’t even put to words.
I hate it that you know me so well. I hate that you knew that night you had hurt me and chose to let it pass. I hate that I didn’t. I hate the stupid word lovey-dovey and I hate that it only matters to you.
I hate that you only want the strong girl, but what about me? Yes, I have fought lions and bears and I have built an empire out of nothing. I even fooled you. Them. Everyone, but tell me what about me? what about the blood I have shed? what about the rivers of tears I have cried? Is that part of me of no meaning to you at all? Why do you want to feed off my strength but dismiss my weakness?
I know you feel differently.
I could feel it the first night I heard you cry. Crying out the words “I don’t want to lose you” with such pasion I didn’t believe it – I still don’t believe. What is it about you, that you so desperately wanted to create distance between us?
Today I learned that no matter how hard you work at it, it will never work out. I am the kind of woman who likes to be held from afar, softly enough to feel the warmth, but far enough to be me. But your arms are too broken to hold. My love. You wanted space, well congratulations.
I build a whole constellation of stars for you.