hero worship

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is so bad ew ew ew!!! It got to the middle and I was like "Idk what else to write so I'm just gonna wing it! It'll totally be fine lol"
It was not fine.

Submitted: July 17, 2016

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Submitted: July 17, 2016



I don't blame you for leaving. I don't blame you and I am not totally angry with you.

But I am sad.

When I met you, I saw nothing but sunlight. The literal personification of sunshine was in my presence and I had never been so dazzled in my life. Your eyes had a spark of something ancient, something unaccounted for, something no one really knew the name of. Your lips, tongue, voice was a dead language. It's not really dead - but the way you left your heritage at the back of your throat to choke on, made the scent of the decaying flesh of your ancestors so much more prominent. Your hands, instruments of both evil and beautiful things, held the tendons of my limbs in a firm grip. I moved when you wanted me to. I spoke when you wanted me to, but only the words you'd made me reherse countless times beforehand. Loving you was exhausting.

The first time I met you, you'd pulled me back off the road by my hood and, arms wheeling like a ferris wheel, I landed on top of you. I didn't stop thanking you for saving my life, you never stopped telling me I owed you. I remember looking up and seeing bright, twinkling eyes and not a single shred of concern. Only now do I realize how unconcerned you were for my safety or sanity. I lost my mind trying to please you. If you find it, please return to this address: 

So, looking back, maybe we were doomed from the start. 
Of course, this didn't stop me from handing my heart over - still beating, in stained crimson hands. I watched as you lifted it delicately from my fingers and raised it to your lips. Your forgotten city lips. I felt the ache in my chest when you bit into my life and when my blood ran down your chin, I tried so hard not to think of peaches. The way they'd burst and squirt. The way my heart was doing between your teeth. Did you know when you started this how much battering it would take before the bruise becomes permanent? 

I regret telling you I loved you.
Not because I wasn't in love with you - I was so invested in us. I would have put my heart in a blender for you had you not done it for me. I would have bent over backwards to do anything for you had you not broken my back previously. I would have become a whole new person for you before I realized I already had. 
You never acknowledged the love I had for you, like it was a too obvious skin deep burn taking up 40% of my face that you were trying so hard not to stare at. I thanked you for your silence before I understood that I wanted an apology.

I'm still waiting. 

I am just another broken-necked notch in your bedpost, hanging from a noose that you made me sew out of my own hair. 

I guess this is a letter to say that I am sorry. I am sorry that you made me believe what I felt was love. It was hero worship. And you fed off the insecurity that came in tsunami waves. You drank my sorrow from a wine glass. You collected my emptiness in a jar and hung them from branches outside your house. Anyone who came close would read the label and stay away. 

I am sorry. Not to you, but to myself. To my inner goddess, my inner queen. I sit on a throne made of the thornes and bones of my enemies, I drink the blood of those who have wronged me.

I am sorry, to her, that it took me far too long to leave you. 

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