When I was 16 I wrote a page in this about a love I thought I deserved. That was about 6 years ago. Knowing all of the things I know now, I know that it was not love. Not in the way love is really supposed to be. I worshiped him like he was the moon, never giving second thought to the fact that the sun gives the moon it's light. I didn't realize then that the light I saw draining wasn't even his but mine to begin with. I spoke of the ocean and how it took over the earth while allowing it to stand on its own without considering that the ocean can crumble buildings and land in one wrong storm. I allowed him to wrap his hands around my lungs and blamed love on how hard I found it to breath. How I hoped he saw me in the same light I saw him, he didn't. He wore sunglasses to dull me down until his eclipse poured over me, I spoke of his light reminding me of headlights dimming and I didn't even realize they were flashing sos and the whole time, it was me holding the panic button.
Love is not supposed to feel like there is a chain around your heart like his hands around your wrist gripping a little too tight when you might disagree. It's not supposed to be crimson like the taste of iron in your mouth after you made a joke he didn't like. It is not supposed to burn like dry eyes after staring at the ceiling a little too long. It's not supposed to make you gasp for air and question your next move. You are never supposed to question if the person you love views you the same. Id always been too afraid. Afraid to admit I allow the people I love to love me with conditions. To love me based on how I can serve them. To not love me but only love the broken watered down versions of me they have created. Afraid that I was never really worth loving at all. Afraid that love was supposed to feel that way, after all, how would I know any different? All I ever saw was the toxic kind of love, the kind that swallows you whole and spits you out, like a sunflower seed with only the shell remaining. I let him crawl into me and carve me out, never truly thinking past the surface of who I was and who I wanted to be. I don't know if I ever loved him, or if I was just scared of being alone, scared that he truly was the only one who'd find me worth while. I don't think he loved me, I don't think he knew how. I forced myself to be content. I forced myself to push down all of the questions I'd ever have about who I was meant to love and who was meant to love me.
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Chaotic
Poetry**EDIT** so, I started this when I was 15 and haven't touched it since I was 17 I think it would be interesting now, almost 5 years later to come back to it and add some things. Just some stuff I need to allow myself to say. A lot about life. A lot...
