The Kind Of Love He Sold To You: A Poem

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I held you, absorbing every

Single trace of your pain,

Your body, electric, in my arms,

On a dirty floor where no one ever

Belonged, we sat there, in a brew

Of heartache and hopelessness.

 

We should have had our backs,

But truly we didn’t. And yet.

We were there, together, rock bottom,

Bathroom stall, cigarettes and booze,

Teenage girls, feeling in extremes,

Unable to let go, thinking the world

Would collapse if he left, but he already

Did, a million times before, going

To other girls and back to you, to us all.

 

You could take so much. You shouldn’t have had to.

Who were you trying to impress?

You held on to the idea you had of him in your

Mind. He took advantage of it.

He’d always play with it. And make you crumble.

 

He pushed you into self-destruction.

He couldn’t give you what you deserved.

Every torment he put you through

You interpreted as a sign that you were worthless

And unlovable. He played with that too.

Abused the holes you’d fall into and when you

Pressed that blade against your skin,

He’d pretend to be your saviour and

Shut the door to knock some sense into you.

topless woman with tattoos
Photo by Ivan Oboleninov on Pexels.com

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