A Tangle of Hurt and Happiness - A collection of poetry

Her Eyes

His hand gently traced the planes of my thigh.
Watching, I realized that I didn't mind.
Despite how I hadn't let anyone touch me like that in such a long time,
I didn't feel like he was crossing a line.

I told him a story in the middle of the night,
About two girls, one of whom had stolen the other's light.
I told him how I had tried with all of my might
To forget, but the past's hold on my heart was far too tight.

I told him about how much it hurt me
To look in the mirror and see
The broken pieces of a girl that should never have had to be.
If she hadn't existed, she wouldn't have had to bleed.

He stared at me in disbelief.
But to me, it was a relief.
Telling someone was a much-needed release,
Like a branch letting go of its last leaf.

So, I told him all my secrets,
And prayed that he would find the kindness to keep it.
I prayed that this was something I wouldn't regret.
I prayed that I could trust him even if his kiss tasted like cigarettes.

But somewhere in the back of my mind,
With his hand on my thigh,
I realized that I knew those eyes.
She had looked at me like that once upon a time.