my cheeks are raw from
pouring down my face in colors unseen.
…and memories that no one's heard.
i could write about the way he
or i could write about the way he manipulated me
i could write about the times that he held me
or i could write about the times he lied.
and still none of that would change.
i lost his scent from
my body and yet i still
remember everything that happened as much
as i thought i had forgotten.
don't let anyone tell you that a photographic memory is lovely.
i honestly just wish
knowing why i hate myself
could change the fact i do or that knowing what was
wrong with he and i could make the future better but i
know in my heart that it can't.
but church never tells you that.
they aren't paid to remind you that you only
a few hours open for redemption and that the office
closes at nine pm whether you want it to or not.
(that just wouldn't be good advertisement.)
and i am sick of being told that since i
don't love myself
i can't love anyone else while at the same time i am
constantly told, "when you move beyond yourself,
satisfaction in life will come."
one's place to tell me that just because my downfall
is loathing myself because i have grasped the concept that
i am not worthy (as much as i rebelled against that at one point).
every single time i go to church i look for something
and although the advertisements look appealing,
the product doesn't satisfy my heart.
the kids in the sermons
aren't real—they are the assumed
version of how people feel but unless you've stepped into
the shoes of a person who walked down the path of disparity
depression, abuse or any other such thing,
you don't really understand what people are dealing with.
and you're friends won't either.
for all of these reasons i have come
to this conclusion:
that neither a guy nor a friend, nor a church nor myself
will ever meet my personal standards.
and saying good-bye doesn't sound half-bad.