Hi there insecurities.
You look leaner, organic, full of good things.
You been working out?
I can see the definition in your fervor.
The muscles in your pungent.
You’re looking resilient and beautiful these days.
I can smell you, did you switch up your signature scent?
You seem confident, full of self-love.
I’ve been exercising now and then, cut down on the cigarettes, went gluten-free.
I got married, and now as I am trying to relax into it, here you are.
I was feeling pretty good when we parted ways.
I knew I had hurt you.
I knew that my leaving meant the end to a relationship that had lasted almost 3 decades.
But I had had enough of you.
You were mean.
You fucked with my head, my body, my self-worth, my everything.
You made me believe that I was what you said I was. I never knew how to say no to you. You were so sweet, the way you whispered in my ear, the way you came at night right when I was falling asleep.
The way you followed me when I’d look in the mirror, or when I showered. You made me forget my body, told me it was a cage. You made me indulge in methamphetamines, promiscuity, violence…
You told me no one would love me like you loved me. That this armor I carried, this heavy armor, was armor only you could haul.
Oh fuck, and I believed you cause I knew you’d never lie to me.
How could you?
You adored me.
You said it over and over and over until all I could feel was the heavy thrum of your love.
But then I met my husband, and I couldn’t keep you around. There was no room for you.
I couldn’t fathom having you around, while I slept next to him, made love to him, enjoyed him.
But here you are.
Ready to devour.
You know my softness, my trembling.
You know where to slip in.
You’re a predator, with handsome teeth, hard hands, a war in his mouth.
Hard to resist.
But I can’t indulge in you.
I refuse to fall in love with you again.
I want bliss, simplicity, calm.
I hate storms that aren’t necessary.
I am not in a drought, my buds are bursting, spilling like lava.
I don’t want your venom, your spite, your misery or woe.
I want the ample gates of love, the heavy thrust of trust.
I want the balmy taste of magenta on my tongue.
I want soft teeth to tug at my ankles, lovingly.
I don’t want tattered limbs, or bloodied knees.
I want love.
I deserve love.
I refuse to carry your cross.
I will not wear your crown.
Instead, I’ll burn to ash.
My purest form.