Dearest Darkness

Dearest Darkness,
why must you play such tricks?
Why must you boil my blood
and cause my veins to itch?
Dearest Darkness,
what have I done?
I surely don't deserve this
and if I do, then I am stunned.
Dearest Darkness,
how much longer must this last?
I thought we called a truce
and decided to leave this in the past.
Dearest Darkness,
where will my head go next?
This lack of light is breaking me
I am positively perplexed.
Dearest Darkness,
please go now, and let me be
the light is fading so quickly..
it's getting difficult to see.

The first step of many

I've had my fair share of heartbreaks.
Boys who left too soon,
boys who never cared,
boys who were more interested in anything other than me.
I've twisted my hate for them in more ways than I can count,
thinking over and over -
they didn't deserve what they got,
and they never got what they deserved.
But what difference would that make?
I can't go back in time and take his hand out of my underwear.
I can't change the words I said to them,
nor the words they said to me.
I can't change the feelings I thought I once had.
What I can change, though,
is the blame.
There is always going to be regret
for not just listening to, but believing lies;
for not standing up for myself;
and for having the "but it's going to be different than last time" mindset;
Though I am no longer shaming myself for trying to find solace.
The routes I took to find that solace were misguided and wrong -
and in hindsight, I see that.
But at the time, I swear, all I wanted was to be wanted, needed and cared for.
It came out as only needing to be told my tits looked great.
I may have made some bad judgments,
I may have made some bad decisions,
I may have made some bad friends.
But that doesn't make me, nor has it ever made me,
a bad person.
I am forgiving myself for the mistakes I have made.
I am forgiving myself for the way I have treated myself for those mistakes.
I am forgiving the men who were also misguided.
My Karma came through for me -
I'm letting their Karma take all my past hatred.

I'll shed you away one last time.

I realized I could recall your ghostly silhouette,

lightened by your television,

at four o'clock in the morning -

as you continued puking from the binge the night before.

I realized I could remember the smell of your cigarettes,

the ones you tried to make me smoke with you,

on your back porch 

in the pouring rain.

I realized I could recall the weight of your hand,

as your pressed it farther up my thigh

as you whispered -

"Shh, just friends."

I realized I could remember your laugh,

but now recalling that the nervousness in your tone

was from fear of being caught.

I remember all of these things,

much more vividly than I remember anything else about you.

I don't remember your birthday.

I don't remember the feeling of your lips.

I don't remember the color of your eyes.

I don't remember the color of your sheets.

I don't even remember the butterflies you once gave me.