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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I fear that if I fail to admit this now, The solution will never make its appearance— I have forgotten how to love someone, Completely and selflessly. With all my guards and walls down, And with judgement unknown to me. Whether it's forgetfulness, or lack of know-how to begin with, I am incapable. The rule book has disappeared from my shelf, and I find it impossible to learn from anyone else Who tries to convince one they are capable. Nobody commits like they should, Like they promise, So why should I trust the way others love? If I love others in ways they have loved me, I would leave ruins in my wake. I'd be harder, less broken hearted, And more desperate. Instead, I find it hard to take a human seriously. I find it hard to imagine that I could be taken care of, that I could be a wife or mother. I find it hard to believe that a man, Or anyone else, Could love me more than they love themselves. Because they are unclean lovers, And I am like untouched glass to them. My purpose is to shatter at their mere fingerprint. And I do not know how to love that. Instead I stare blankly while they fill my gaze with their own projections. They tag me a whore before anything else, And after that I am still just their woman. So I stare blankly As I realize; I do not love him. I cannot love him. I will never love him. But he is mine.
