Butterfly - 12th poetry collection

Promises are Made By Faithless People

I've been feeling so indifferent.
So... not bothered. So apathetic.
Much like myself and less like the version of self I could never obtain to be. A version self I always struggled to live up to.
To be something or someone on her level, that she could love.

I am so fucking exhausted.
Of trying.
Of improving myself.

All this work for someone who doesn't even care to message me;
For someone who no longer calls.
Who only remembers me when no one else is around.
Who only remembers me when they want something out of me.
Who always puts me last.

Who now prefers the silence...
over the sound of my voice.

Who always makes fake fucking promises.
They're not promises.
They are fucking lies.

It's always these recurring questions that haunt me:
Why am I not enough?
Why am I not lovable?
Why am I not worthy?

It's the most dreadful and tragic fate of mine
To always love those who cannot love me back.

I've tried to.
So hard,
And for so long,
To be what they wanted me to be.

I broke myself to make them happy.

Just at the precipice of being ready to move on, I find my lover tangled up with yet another.

Moments ago, I was happy for them.
I was so happy they found someone who understands them.
Who speaks their languages.
Who understands the opera.
Who knows politics.

I was so happy for them; and so tired for myself.
For constantly trying to be that person.

But I didn't realise seeing just how close they are, would break my heart to this grave magnitude.

Those phone calls were my phone calls.
Those late nights were my late nights.
Those private moans were my private moans.

What happened to the promises you made? What happened to them?

How quickly you forget.

How quickly you change.

It took you only a few months - not even five
Only a few days, after our sunrise.

How easily you do it.

How fucking heartless and cruel you can be.

Tossed me aside like I was nothing, when moments ago you were at rock bottom.

Every time someone stabs you in the back or rejects you, you come running to me for an ego boost.

Then off you go like the new season, Drifting away, like a renewed leaf.

What happened to your trauma, then? Did you suddenly get over them, for her?
Your depression, your anger issues, your anxiety?
All the efforts you promised to make for me, only a few weeks ago.
Did you forget about that, too?

You have, you fickle liar.

I was just a toy in your experiment, when I tried
so fucking hard
To be understanding of all that you have went through.

--- Ink and Wander