if there was one thing
love didn't prepare me for
was that it would be so damn hard
my textbooks didn't tell me
how much lonelier it would be
the more days pass by
the signs did not prepare me
to have my 'i love you's fall on deaf ears
and i wondered everyday
if i was good enough for somebody.
i bent my back over,
walked on eggshells,
and never knew if i
was worth a semblance of his, anybody's, heart.
was i capable of being loved?
was i not beautiful enough?
was i not smart enough?
was i not enough?
and love felt like
becoming the second option,
the backhanded comment,
the forgotten text,
the girl who he once loved
and never did anymore.
maybe he's staying out of pity,
but i let him in my home anyway.
i don't know how to see my
self-worth without him. it is a
dangerous game of love and pain and admiration and suffering.
who am i without him?
YOU ARE READING
Miscontrued Sentences
PoetryNo one can understand yourself better than you. But we can all relate to the feelings that are often miscontrued by media, language, and everything in between. This is my ode to poetry, to the sad, the lonely, to everyone, and to myself.
