A Shitty Poem About a Shitty Situationship Where the Sex Was Good So I Stayed Longer Than I Should Have

an unedited, recent photo of me modeling at a fashion show at my uni. when i was on instagram, i couldn’t bear to look at my face without editing it. it’s refreshing to see photos of myself and not cringe or be disgusted. i am healing :)

I haven’t been writing anything lately that I am proud of. I am not really proud of this poem. However, I’m sharing it anyways, because it’s important that I continue to write and to share.

I have been going through the same cycles, for a while. I am ready to transcend them… I am bored with the predictability of it all. I am ready to graduate to new cycles.

So in sharing my imperfect writing, I am releasing my cycle of perfectionism, and my fear of perception - especially perceived failure. Yeah, this poem is so “abc 123” but when I wrote it I was wounded and I bled on the page. I won’t judge myself for the nature, color, and feel of my blood spatter. I accept it. I accept myself. I am enough.

How will I get better if I don’t continue to write? How will I elevate my skill set if I don’t allow my work to be perused, to be taken in like a square of chocolate after a coffee? In tiny blissful pieces. Some bitter. Some milky and smooth. Who am I to judge my flavor today?

I want to enjoy myself in all my flavors. I want to be content with myself. Hating myself and hiding is so boring, and miserable! So in sharing this poem I am breaking a pattern with myself. I am being vulnerable. I am sharing something I know isn’t my best writing, because all my writing doesn’t have to be my best writing, and because I don’t know who might enjoy it , or who may need to read this. so here it is.

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A Shitty Poem About a Shitty Situationship Where the Sex Was Good So I Stayed Longer Than I Should Have

when you entered inside me

it felt like knives

falling from my back

when you walked right behind me

it felt like shadows

and like death

i feel like you hate me

you’d love to take

‘til there’s nothing left

and when you

berate me

i breathe

just a little

less

when you consume me

you engulf me in flames,

in regret

if i say that i miss you

i know i’ll pass your test

i need all my space now

no room for a cleft

for in the space i leave for you

is my almost certain death

i hate you

like a predator

despises decay

i hate you

like earthworms

hate a day full of rain

if i float to the surface

you will step on me again

so i creep below the mud now

surfing through my pain

you live

in my mind now

there is a space …

a little speck

where our connection

is immortal

where there is more

than nothing

left.

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It reads so unfinished to me. But such is the nature of our lives. Unfinished. Stewing. Perpetually unfolding. So I allow it. I allow this space. And I will move through it and forward anyways.

With love always,

Angel ❤️