10 Ave Marias For Breaking My Heart: A Poem

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I longed for a touch that wouldn’t

Deteriorate, cover up its tracks,

Burned into my memory, I wished for

A love that was simple, I looked at you

With child’s eyes and everything I hoped

You’d be crumbled until the ground itself lay

Crucified.

 

You thought money would speak for you

Then the lack thereof, everything depended

On it, you had been so sick, money had made

You sick. What happened behind the scenes?

You were heavy with worry, as if constantly

Threatened, as if running away, releasing your

Wrath against the world against us. I recognised

Your addiction, the way your brain worked and rotted.

 

I still hear you crawling towards my closed door

(I never felt safe without my key)

Your voice cracked

Begging for mercy and forgiveness.

You’d appeal to the heart of a child.

You master manipulator, playing your

Dirty old tricks, the nightmare erupting out

Of nowhere, no track record, no explanations,

Just a volcano in the middle of a house.

 

Slowly massacring those you pretend to love,

Whatever that means in your world,

And count on forgiveness later, you emptied my soul,

Break my heart, ten Ave Marias, I wish I could have shut you down,

You and your midnight circus, harassing everybody.

 

How you refused to pay my schoolbooks.

How school had been going on for weeks

And how I sat there without the book that

Everyone else had, full of shame, yours, and the

Teacher would threaten me with punishments,

Thinking the worst things about me, and you

Just didn’t see the point of giving me my schoolbook,

Saying that when you were a pupil you had a portable

Blackboard, you didn’t have any books, so I had to go

Through the exact same hardships you had to go through.

 

I couldn’t believe you, I carried your shame into that classroom.

I internalised the punishments that you should have been

Subjected to. But you have, right? That’s the point, isn’t it?

That my life should be as miserable as yours when you were

My age. You created me to get the money. It is hard not to look at it as

A sickness that burns love alive.

portrait photography of woman looking up
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