She dropped my
hand
the lines
blurred
my vision went
dark
girlhood was
not a love
that I deserved
I could accept it
or I could spend
my life fighting for it
only to not see it
when it arrived
unable to handle
the drop of a hand
she wanted to
be held
not by Her
but by someone
the distance
froze her
taught her
wounded her
She dropped her hand
Her fear outweighing
Her love
Her inability to be.
destroying those around her
until they grew up
hated Her
ridiculed Her
ignored Her
grew from her
but never forgot
the wound opening
every
time
why did she go back
every
time
she knew it was wrong
every
time
she wanted the part of her
that disappeared that day
the love she’d been promised
5,678 chances
she understood now
why people killed for love
but she could not will it to end
and there was no other way
years later
the rain poured down
and she was stuck inside
with only her thoughts
she thought of Her
how far she’d come
she replayed the moment
just to feel the pierce of the pain
to see if she’d grown for it
it still hurt
chronic
exacerbated by the sight, scent or implication
she’s found love
she feels seen
she’s held other hands
and she thinks one day she may be okay
This is achingly beautiful and perfectly captures what it feels like to be left wanting something as seemingly simple as love. "chronic" and "she thinks one day she may be okay" feels like a poetic microcosm of life!