What's Left

in silence.

I tried,
I really did-

telling myself
I could do it.
Convincing myself
it was worth it.

It doesn’t work.

Sometimes it's better
to let it fade,
but for the life of me,
I don’t know how.

I can’t figure it out.

Whatever it is that’s
incomplete,
scattered,
lost.

It’s me,
I realized.
Not you.

I’m not enough. 

I’ll compare myself endlessly-
every detail on display:
body, face, eyes, lips;
ugly, broken,
useless.

Waste of space. 

It burns.
The envy inside.

Why couldn’t that be me?
Why can’t it be easy?

Why did I think
I had a chance?

Because you told me to trust you.
And I did.

You played the act
long enough to convince them
you’re the gentle martyr. 

A joke.
A fool to believe you.
A disaster if I continue to trust you.

Yet day after day,
I sit here and let myself
be drawn back to you,
as if nothing happened.

As if I didn’t shatter
when you turned around
and walked away.

When you went about life
like nothing happened.

As if
you didn’t make me second guess myself,
just when I finally had ground to stand on. 

Now I sit here
in doubt and self hatred,
with everything 
that was left unspoken,
wishing again and again
I could wipe you from everything. 

I shouldn’t feel bad for you.

I shouldn’t have let you come back.

Everything I had worked towards,
you destroyed so quickly.

And I don't have it in me to rebuild—

only to watch someone else
do it again.
And again.
And again. 

There isn’t anything left. 

I was kind before.
I still had a heart for you.

Now it’s gone.

I’m back in my shelter,
away from you,
guarded from it all. 

Where I let the emptiness
devour me once more.
Why not? 
Why fight it?

At least then
there won’t be anything left
to hurt anymore.