It's not that I don't love you.
It's the sound I heard when I was 9 when my father walked out.
He slammed the door so hard I swear to god the entire house shook.
For the next years I saw my mother break her teeth on vodka bottles. I think she stopped breathing when he left. I think a part of her died.
I think he took her heart with him when he walked out.
Her chest is empty, just a shattered mess of cracked ribs and depression pills.
It's not that I don't love you.
It's all the blood in the sink.
It's the night I spent 12 hours in the emergency room waiting to see if my sister was okay.
After the boy she loved, told her he didn't love her anymore.
It's the crying, the fluorescent lights, and white sneakers and pale faces and shaky breaths and blood.
So much blood.
It's not that I don't love you.
It's the time I had to stay up for two days straight with my best friend while she cried and shrieked and threw up on my bedroom floor because her boyfriend fucked his ex.
I swear to god she still has tear streaks stained into her face.
I think when you love someone never really goes away.
It's not that I don't love you.
It's the six weeks we spent with a substitute teacher in English because our teacher was getting divorced and couldn't handle getting out of bed.
When she came back she was smiling.
But her hands shook so hard when she held her coffee, that you could see there was something broken inside.
And sometimes when things break, you can't fix them. Nothing ever goes back to the way it was.
I got an A in English that year. I think her head was always spinning too hard to read essays.
It's not that I don't love you, it's that I do.
YOU ARE READING
The thoughts I think.
Poetry•Poems, and quotes from the deepest, most beautiful, scariest, darkest depths of my heart and soul. •Daily pain struck words, given to you by yours truly. •Trigger warning. Self-harm, hurt, pain, etc. So much pain out into the smallest amount of w...
