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 can not change the way my bones reach for his flesh, Even when he is not lying beside me anymore. My bedroom has become a barren land, inhabited by the shell of a girl. I hardly know who she is these days. She sings, she draws, she writes; She cries, she yells, she sleeps. Something turned bitter inside her over the months, A stomach full of wine and broken glass. Staying up late to talk about fate and destiny, and trivial things with him— Marriage, houses, children, death. By bones and by flesh; He believes in a predetermined fate, One where we are meant to be entangled, and die in the same bed. He believes it wholeheartedly and I do not think anything will change his mind. He will spend his life chasing this. But I will spend my life standing still. I am tired of begging. I am tired of reaching for flesh that doesn't feel the weight of my bones and think, God, I am so lucky. I am so full of love, and I am so lucky. Instead, I lay my head down on my bedroom floor and stare up at the ceiling, calling out, My universe, my universe— You have taken this out of my life for a reason. You are making room for the change I couldn't make with something so heavy in my life. You are making room for progress, and making room for contentment. So I will give you my bones at the end of the world, and you will make room for me to finally breathe.
