My mama use to say that sticks and stones may break my bones but you, you were never suppose to hurt me.
But you did and I found myself praying it was the sticks and stones and the broken bones because that pain I would've known how to deal with.
Your pain was different.
See, I wasn't prepared for the pain of the sharp shards of my broken heart piercing my gut killing the butterflies that once roamed there.
I wasn't prepared for the pain of my spirit being shredded into confetti falling to the ground through my tears.
I wasn't prepared for the pain of the virus of fear contaminating my soul killing my hope cells and will cells because they are what drive you.
I wasn't prepared for the pain of the emptiness I feel now that you aren't here.
All that's left is a broken heart
A gut full of festering butterflies
A shredded spirit.
An infected soul.
Sticks and stones may break my bones mama used to say.
But you, you were suppose to cure it all.
I guess that's why into you so many people fall.
Sticks and stones may break my bones
And now I know you, you will break me too.
YOU ARE READING
Love's Lessons
PoetryWe all think we know it. What it is. What it is not. How it feels. How to show it. How to receive it. But the truth of the matter is, we do not have the slightest clue about it. How complex it is. How much depth it has. How many faces it wears. This...
