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my lungs do not grow flowers
instead, this is a place where words rot
they do not yield beautiful things
they block airways and voice boxes
and the day i tell you i love you
is the day i am dead
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“How was it?” He asked. “How did it feel to have your arms caressed by another man?”
There was a lingering betrayal in how he spoke. It was especially endearing to him, the little things. I couldn’t make out how to respond in a way that would let me out of the argument. I couldn’t win. He was hurt. I hurt him. And in that moment, I hurt myself.
I could almost feel the torment of my sin weighing down fully upon my shoulders with just one look in his eyes. There couldn’t be a word to describe the sudden rupture inside of him that made me want to undo everything I had done.
“I fucking loved you,” He said. “With all that I was, I am, and all that I’ll ever be.”
Every hitch in his breath was as painful as acid in my wounds. I felt like I was being caned alive, I was screaming, but all the voice in me was gone, just because I had no right to defend myself. And there wasn’t even anything to mask the humiliation.
“I loved you like it’s a general truth. I found the meaning of what it felt like to be the happiest man in the world with you beside me. I never had a tinge of doubt with you, because I knew—I knew—“ He said in the most faintest of tones that broke me the most. “That you loved me too.”
I did, and I still do. But saying it would only add insult to the injury. I couldn’t tell him this, although it’s all the truth he needed.
He stared long into my eyes, and he knew. He saw what I’d tried to mask and what Id failed to accomplish. He knew the efforts. He knew the mistake. He knew the love was still around.
“I never believed that someone could hurt just as much as they loved,” He mustered up a laugh that sounded inaudibly like a cry. “I never thought about all of the possibilities on how one of us could bend and break. I doubted myself if I would ever be faithful years down the road! And all along, it was you!”
He knocked the life out of me the second he released the words. He knew every piece of me, though incomplete, he understood where each of them went. He knew me, maybe even better than I, and most times I felt that it was wrong, because then he’d know how to use the right words to break myself apart.
#writings#spoken poetry#filipino poetry#spoken word#spoken word poetry#literature#lit#prose#spilled ink#spilled thoughts
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my words spill in the broken seams of my shell
there are too many words that failed to pass me,
your name builds a home in my skin
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i rlly can’t comprehend the fact that someone might actually fall in love with me… honestly what a concept
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You ever just look at somebody and it’s like your soul aches to touch them?
N.M.Sanchez (via wnq-writers)
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My life used to be full of everything. Now if you aren’t with me I haven’t a thing in the world.
Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms
(via wordsnquotes)
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I mustn’t look at you too much, or I won’t be able to take my eyes off you at all.
Franz Kafka, Letters To Felice
(via wordsnquotes)
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On some days, I tend to forget that you broke my heart, because nostalgia makes you a better person than you were.
The Story of a Loner (via wnq-writers)
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“what do you think about when you daydream or get distracted?”
nothing. my head is just a running loop of the hamilton original cast recording
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boom! panes! boom boom! panes panes!
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Why is it considered so trendy to leave your comfort zone? I’m already having a hard enough time inside my comfort zone.
Sylvia Witteman (via somekindofstudent)
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You have no idea what a charming memory you are to me.
Friedrich Nietzsche (via quotemadness)
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