This is a personal documentation through poetry.
I am learning to look inward now, give myself love when I least want to. I do not live to love others, I live to love myself. I will find and create what is enough for me, and you will learn to let it...
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What a strange concept it is to build a structure, And then tear it down. What about the time and effort it took to pick out the foundation, and carefully lay that brick? What about the beautiful potential and the hopeful state it was in prior? It was such a nice home to live in. But no one else had the key but us. There was no spare. The only glimpse you'd get was if you looked in the windows, Or I answered the door. What a strange concept to build myself this home, And then desire it's destruction after time spent inside. It's strange to the passerby, But the occupant rots. The floorboards had nails sticking up, and the paint was chipped and discolored. There were no bolts on the doors, And you could hear through the walls. It was him and I. And it was our home. It was him and I, and we had built our lives into each other's. We had woven our love into one sweater. And I wore this sweater everywhere I went. We took turns, we wore it separate, we wore it together. We wore it out. And it eventually hung above our fireplace that burned too hot, too quickly. The flames licked the floors and walls, and singed the frayed ends of our sweater. I had to take the sweater down. I had to take it outside. I had to pour water on it, watch it dry, Watch it shrink, and tear it apart. I had to unweave what was woven for us. When I finally turned around, dismantled sweater in my fingers, He stood in the doorway of the house, Up in hellish flames, And asked "why are you doing this to us?" And I don't have the right answer for that kind of question, and I won't ever have the right answers. All I knew is that the sweater didn't fit me anymore, And I wanted to go home.
