I don’t want to be in love anymore. It hurts knowing that it is so one sided. I wish to have this emotion stricken from my memory. Just so that I can never remember this pain. And on the off chance I am infected again, please just rip my heart away. For it would better to suffer from such a injury than to have to feel again.
There, a glimpse through lenses
Tinted rose, with lilacs surrounding
The edges with gold
Behold, a wonder disguised
As a disgusted smirk with fire eyes
There, a glimpse through lenses
Tinted rose with surprised beginnings
Edged in golden decisions
Behold, a tainted lust
Disguised as fools who trust
I truly do hate winter
As complicated as it may seem I do not want to do anything anymore. At the same time I want to get better. My emotions are all over the place. Nothing seems to make sense. Maybe it is the weather. It keeps me inside and gives me an excuse to grieve. But I am warm. So very warm and so very alone. Maybe what I am doing is finding excuses but they are what keep me going.
I built a house to suffer in
Locked the doors against fear not knowing that I already let him in
Wounded bleeding against the door
Found, yet unfounded, I beg no more
But fear has found a place inside
In this house I built with lies
I have read a lot about domestic violence. In some cases I find myself blaming the victim and in others I can sympathize with them. I believe it is only human to lean one way or the other with hearing of such terrible things. Yet there is one thing that pisses me off. The idea that men can not be victims of abuse. Or if they are it is only those in same-sex relationships. This is because time and time again people respond to cases with a male victim that he is just weak. Men should be able to stand up to women. Cases where men do not mean that they are weak and deserve it. So what if they got raped, they should enjoy the free sex.
It is bothersome really…no that is not the correct word. I feel a much stronger emotion when faced with the people who believe in those things. Yes, male victims are statistically lower but they are still important. Men should be allowed to come forward without being ridiculed and hated…or envied. What is wrong with people that they envy such an encounter???
I have read a lot about domestic violence. I am human in the way I judge the situation. But no matter the reason I believe that everyone has the right to justice. Everyone has a right to be heard. Everyone has a right to seek freedom without…judgement.
Thanks for coming.
Side note: Stop shitting on LGBT couples people. Seriously I have read a crappy ton of books lately and why is it that every book I have read someone is leaving an abusive relationship. Find another reason to make people break up LGBT authors. Seriously. Can’t we have them break up over something mundane like not being in love anymore. Or just like idk maybe one of them had to move away for a job. Or hell kill one of them. In the last 30 books I have read with a romantic theme pretty much 70% of them had something to do with someone leaving an abusive relationship. Granted I am reading a series where everyone and they momma got a sob story but come on!! I read a lot about domestic violence, from real life stories to fictional ones. Sob stories are kind of my thing if you haven’t been able to tell.
“I’m sorry” but I do not think she can hear me. Wishful thinking on my part. That this simple taunt could bring her back to me.
“I am sorry’
What a lie. I know that is not how I feel but try as I might, she still will not open her eyes.
I question my motives as I lay a kiss on her lips. Another on her cheek as I think of my reasoning. Before long her face is covered with my unknowing. As if the space on her face will give me all my answers.
“I am so sorry” I lie again as tears burst forth from my throat and I lay a hand on her chest. Another comes to take my place as I slowly walk away.
“I am sorry”
I mean it.
It is not a voice…more of a feeling. A tiny tinge in the back of my head. One that says I am better off dead. One that forces my attention to a blade. I bet it would be heavenly if I gave in. There is no voice. Nor any figure standing over me. It is more of a feeling that I need to bleed. It touches me with such gentle wishes. Catches my attention on some swaying bridges. Just a skip and a jump and it would be over with…done. This voice, no, this feeling, will have won… I think it would be better if it had won.
I am scared
I want to reach out
But who will be there?
Who will reach back to me?
Who will help me see
That all is will be well
Even when I don’t believe
A painter standing
Tips a brush dripped in koi blood
And dashes off the excess
Before applying a swipe of oppression
On a canvas filled with a traitors jest
He rest his hand in a still life rendition
To a crowd of a white washed plague
A painter standing in ovation
Tearing into another bottle of ink
He is not done tainting this history
A paint brush dipped in koi blood
A canvas of a nation that once was
He makes a mark that may just last
To a crowd of reflective glass
Looking back now I am not sure how I reached this point. I think apart of me is scared that this will all end up being a dream. She won’t be here sleeping next to me. Instead I will be in am empty room. In a house filled to the room with depression and regret. I would possibly…I may even be dead.
But I did it. And looking at her. I can’t help but be afraid. I do not think I am enough. But in the end. Even that fear is worth it.
I love you my sunshine.