The Sun

I read a Warsan Shire quote recently that said

“So here it is. I loved him, yes. But loving him made me kind of hate myself, and that wasn’t good.” and another quote that said "Loving you was the most exquisite form of self-destruction."

And I would love to say I can't relate but I’ve been destructively in love before. If love is what you call it.

The First

Was a sweet talker, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, projected his faults into me. He made me feel like a goddess, but in a world where men were the gods, saying that society would never name me ugly, so that’s why he loved me. He was the accuser, making me hate myself because of him. As he broke our relationship by going from one girl to another, he made me feel like it was my fault. There was something wrong with me because I couldn’t give him what he wanted and he had to get it from someone else. By the time we broke up, he had turned me into a monster, waiting for the day I’d fall for another. I destroyed people like he destroyed me. I waited for the day he would be exhaled from my lungs and I could catch my breath and inhale someone else. I wanted to forget how my lips made their home in his. Forget the feeling of his breath caressing my neck. Because it was too easy to dream about him and clutch my pillow in the morning as he escaped farther and farther away with each screech of my alarm. I thought alcohol would erase my memory, pretending my life was complete with parties and Bacardi. I let the night consume me but even darkness couldn’t remove me from the grip of his memory. Because the day would come and bring the love songs that were painful reminders of his empty promises. Day would come and reveal the place where is name was engrained in me and make me relive dead memories. Even my tears reminded me of him when they caressed my cheek before abandoning me and I stuck my words to my throat because my heart tried to escape with each syllable. To others, I learned how to hide my unsteady breaths and uneven sighs. Back then, I thought love and hate were opposites but the truth is they fit together almost as well as my fingers did through his. I needed the true opposite of love, I needed indifference.

The Second

was more cunning. My destruction, like many things, happened gradually, then all at once. It was like clouds began to creep in on my sunshine so subtly I didn’t even notice. Then suddenly it was pouring and I was left wondering how I got there. Wasn’t it just sunny? He had already ripped me to shreds before I even realized he entered inside me. I tore myself apart to hold him together. I got burned just to keep him warm. And even after he left, I didn’t know I was in pieces until someone put me back together. The Second was the man boy who made me feel ugly so I could go to him to feel beautiful. He stripped me of my worth so I needed him to not feel worthless. He chose when we would have sex, even if I didn’t want it. He made me hate myself so I would rely on him to love me. He was a demon, pretending to be an angel, that needed to be exorcised from my life. When I hit my lowest low, I tried, again, to drink away my misery and wrote a poem called Drunk:

I feel every step the spirit takes

It starts at my lips, waltzes across my tongue, makes its way down my throat,

Like liquid fire, it burns everything in its path.

It spreads through my body, to my fingertips, to my toes.

Now it's overtaking my being, taking over my balance.

I fly like a spirit

For I am possessed.

I see it when my eyes are open.

I feel it when my eyes are closed.

My tongue has lost its function,

My words are chained as they escape my lips

And most of them fall to the ground before reaching ears.

Spirit almost terrifying

Yet still more welcomed

Than the horrible reality from which it takes me

But eventually I set myself free from him. The light started to come back and I didn’t truly know how low I was until I started climbing up. And I started to see the sun. His rays were blond and he made me shine. But I was broken and scared. I warned him that the fire flowing through my chest could melt his heart and I couldn’t love him the way I should, the way he loved me. Those emotions were trapped by my fear of reopening scars. I told him I was broken but he said good, light comes in through the cracks. So I guess that’s how he got in and started pulling my pieces back together from the inside. For years, he helped me put myself together. And through his love, he taught me how to love him, the right way, the real way. So I wrote this poem:

My heart was heavy but in your arms it takes refuge

Eradicating my presumptions from the day that I met you

But sometimes I slip, you allow me to clutch you

I am the moon

You are my sun

Darkness can’t touch you

With time, the pain from the First and Second slowly faded until it disappeared. Now I can bask in the sun :)