Tears pour down my face like Autumn rain, my heart bleeds profusely from the wounds you inflicted within me.
Distraught, thoughts of all the other women that climbed ontop of you spin through my mind like a carousel. All the women who were inbetween the arms I called a home, all the women underneath the body I called a lover.
You scold at me to stop, but I can’t escape what could of been.
Your rebuke does not sting like your dishonesty, but I know I am not insane nor am I paranoid.
I am just sick, sick to death of being hopelessly in love with you.
And just like that I was thrown away and forgotten.
I miss the smell of your cigarette stained finger tips, the way the scent would linger under my nose as you stroked my lip.
I crave your nicotine drenched kiss, I need my fix.
I place a cigarette inbetween my lips, but it doesn’t have the same kick, nicotine tastes better when it’s off your lips.
Patience, consistency and commitment.
The three needed to achieve anything successfully.
Your patience has run dry, but I will remember all the days you had been patient with me.
We have reached the dreaded day where you no longer want to hold me nor kiss me, but I will remember each and every loving kiss you have planted on my skin.
These ankles are still bruised from the shackles that had held me prisoner to this bed, after you left. My depression and I had lay side by side as hours turned into days, days into nights, sunsets to sunrise.
This hollow chest of mine still echoes out your name, like a wolf howling for the night’s light. My sadness and I had lay side by side caressing each other till these sad, swollen eyes were soothed into another sleepless night.
The chambers of this heart have thickened and scarred, since the day we’ve been apart. I should of been more careful with this glass-heart. – S. Alaa
The countless times I would pour out my heart to the ones who were dearest to me, only to have my feelings thrown back in my face. Tell me lover, was it worth it? Was it worth the momentarily satisfaction of power?
The countless occasions I spent chasing undeserving lovers who intentionally hurt me and denied every ounce of responsibility. Tell me lover, is your ego well fed now? Was it worth taking my restless effort for granted, to fulfil your childish grudge?
The haikus and poems I wrote comparing your sad, angry eyes to the beautiful constellation of stars that blanket over us are no longer there to decorate the truth: You did not deserve me. No longer oblivious by the infatuation I once had to see you never have known my worth and you never will.
All the kind words and softness you took for granted. All the pleading and apologies you took for granted. Indoctrinated by your anger and bitterness, a pathetic attempt to play a godly role to punish me, instead you lost out on me, lover.
I pity you, for your fear of looking weak by uttering the words “I love you” or “I am sorry”, have done nothing but left you lonely. Weakness is in the inability to express love and honesty in fear of losing the upper hand. There is no shame in telling someone you need them. There is no shame in admitting you were wrong. Let them know that the sound of their voice still lingers in your ear. Let them know that you’re yearning to feel their warmth in your arms. Let go of the stubborn mask that you all hide behind.
Shame on you if you let them go and call it love.
Shame on you if your pride outweighs their importance to you, that is not love.
Shame on you if you desire them yet torment them out of anger and bitterness.
That is not love.
This is not love. – S. Alaa