I have no idea why we hold on to relationships that hurt, stink like death, and make us want to puke. But I know what we're doing when we do.
We're clinging so hard because of the hope that it'll be different this time. Like a dog who's been kicked every day for three years, but still wags its tail at the sound of its owner's keys in the lock.
Like a kitten on a busy highway who won't leave the side of a dead mother.
We hold on because there's something in us that says, "Hopefully this time it'll be different."
And then it isn't.
It's exactly the same as every other time. Maybe this time you didn't get kicked, or your heart didn't feel like it was being ripped out of your chest cavity with a rusty pair of pliers, but you're still left feeling used and alone and wondering what you did wrong to deserve such treatment.
Again.
YOU ARE READING
Poems about Toxic Women and Suicide.
PuisiThis book of poems and stories and letters are about love A coincidence, a curse, a legend and a break up. In the beginning there is a girl who is starting to fall in love with a boy. And there was another girl who loved him too. Unexpectedly they a...
