I carry the weight of all the things you won’t talk about in my heart. The unspent words settle in my belly cold and heavy, each one a tiny reminder of the love withheld, the rejection of who I am, the willingness to beat me down with silence until I forget that I have worth outside these walls and this context. I sink into vapors of despair, tread water for just enough air to live normally for the eyes and ears that surround me.
The force of your spurning vibrates, repelling me into hugging walls and skirting the edges of our shared spaces. I am only trying to keep myself upright and unwithered, but you retaliate against me saving my own heart –laughing and living loudly, saying in your intimate conversations with others, “I don’t need you. And you deserve what you get.”
I want out of this cycle of spiritual violence, of needing to lick wounds torn open over and over again. I want deliverance from your kind of love, healing from your kind of brutality. I want to be loved, wake up in a safe space where I can breathe and share the softness of my dreams.