Roses From Men Who Scarred You

It pains you…

You’re well aware that you’re digging yourself a grave just to fulfill something completely unrelated to this man, whom you share a bed.

Concealing a hurt you were once too young to fathom or understand.

Because at that point, all you knew was joy. Pain was just something you felt when you lost balance and fell off a bike and was never really an emotion.

All you could recall was feeling empty for a while staring at the world, as it spun and you finally catch your breath when it eclipsed with your smile.

Unaware that planetary shifts are no different from spiritual principalities and warfares, drastically shifting while you remained stationary, unable to detect the areas of your life that were constantly under attack!

And it took a while for you to see it… you began to see the patterns of the unapologetically toxic men, you could not help but attract, and they happened to look attractive and you happened to be attracted and ultimately attached.

Attached to a string of men, that literally led you nowhere, and No, they were NOT stringing you along, you were dead weight, to men who had witnessed you digging your own grave, in their presence, with presents that they used as tokens of apologies to just buy more time with you, until they got lucky.

And after the pain and sufferings, of you witnessing death in the eyes of the men, you once thought you loved, you sought peace.

And finally, it hits you,

You reach utopia,

A moment of solitude that leads to solace.

And you finally get it…

“You were never enough to make your father stay”

And that you never feel enough for the men you beg to stay.

There’s a connection.

The first is the root, and the latter, fruits that are bared.

It’s the same pain, except it was planted in your youth and it’s been growing and It has outgrown you.

The same branches that reach out to these men, push them away, equally as quickly… and it grows and it grows.

As you feed it apologies which are not meant to be said and lust to men who are not worthy; men who do not require refuge but seek it for the sake of curiosity; seeking asylum in sacred parts of your body.

A temple which was never meant to be toyed with to begin with, simply because you didn’t end it.

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My solitude grows out of my clothes…

It knows no bounds

I am unable to shake hands or give hugs to those I’d love to hold.

I then create beauty in spaces which I no longer allow them to occupy,

Because my art does not derived from human interaction,

but rather the hollows they leave behind…

Throwback 

   
I came across this piece just now and I was completely unaware that I wrote it, until I was half way through. 

In those seconds, it dawned on me how unbelievablely easy it was for me to write about topics I had absolutely no idea of.

Now, that I’m learning to be aware of my emotions, writing has become such a foreign talent of mine.

Long story short, I can finally relate to what what I used to write about and now that I’m experiencing it, I find it difficult to write.