To a rose made of stained glass…

Walking on glass shards would be much less painful than being by you.

Because while glass is fragile, it’s already shattered, so I don’t have to worry about the cracks that would’ve been caused my own two feet.

Everything feels like it’s a mistake just waiting to happen, and one little step out of line would have you snap, hidden by heavy sarcasm and leaving me stunned in silence.

While you may dismiss cries and screams and lies, there’s no doubt in my mind that you analyze everyone around you.

You don’t think of yourself as special, yet you effortlessly  make everyone else think you are.

Annoyed by how people admire your work, you move on with people as if they were items on a shelf and could always be returned after using its full potential.

Ever since I met you. I tried to accept that some things were my fault and that it wasn’t the other’s, but I’ve realized? That I have to learn that there are times when damn right those people were the ones that were seeing it all wrong.

You’re like a rose where even if its beauty grows there’s thorns surrounding you.

And while I know that those thorns will pierce my skin and make me bleed I didn’t realize that it was hurting me until I snapped out of the admiration for your beauty and perfection, felt the blood pour out of my throat and bubble over my lips as I look to see a single thorn, piercing my heart.

There once was a time when I felt like I loved you.

That this admiration for you and this feeling on how I was drawn to you. I enjoyed your company, your laugh, your smile. I felt like I was important and my purpose was to make you feel appreciated and be by your side.

I didn’t realize that I had been acting like a servant more than a friend. Someone who only did to please and to get rewarded with kind words and pleasantries. Until the whip in your hands slashed into my back and made me topple over into my swirling void of desperation. And yes, I sound dramatic but don’t you fucking dare say that you have it worse because I. Know. That.

I’m well aware.

Though life is shitty and makes you wanna wrap a noose around your neck and drop the pain and suffering away. I happen to feel pain. Too.

I feel like I’m drowning. Drowning and never reaching the surface because I’ve fallen too deep.  Like I couldn’t breathe and my vision was blurry from the salty water that is purified and poisoned by dopamine.

No, this is not a heartbroken poem. I am not and was never in love with you in the first place. Whatever here that is spewed out on this sheet of paper is pure adrenaline who happens to be sick of having to be careful and sick of fear, andsick of having to act normal to you after what you told me.

You asked me why I wasn’t acting the same, well would you? If someone you thought, would be someone you’d cherish, the one you spilt your deepest secrets too. Tell you. That you didn’t do enough and that you were never helping with anything? That. Is how I felt that day.

My body made of glass, clear and unscathed. Cracked and broken until it was glittering dust, and your black ink seeped into me and filled me up. I wasn’t the same again. Though, I will admit not all of it was bad. I wish good will for the rest of your days, because you helped me become a phoenix, rising from the ash and flames.

The stained glass that is my being, is now beautiful in its own way.


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