Poems

i find myself awake
for fear of dreaming
even in my waking hours
i dread the thought of
his face; his body; his anger
there's no need to guess
i know he hates me

from day one i had
so many doubts and fears
but i pushed them aside
for the beauty in his eyes
the sweetness of his words
but when his honesty
became a mere illusion,
only my doubts remained
i suppose i should be grateful
for his last attempt
to answer every question
i'd ever asked of him
for they gave me the rage
and the reason to quit

any relationship that forms
its base on anything but
acceptance of truth
is doomed to fail
i ignored this simple fact
for far too long so that
when the end finally came
i was surprised by the power
of my own resentment

i never meant to hurt him
i'm not quite sure if i did
but i know he has added
a small scar to my collection
this entire journey was short
yet it lasted many months
of emotional turmoil
i've been told to change
alter myself or the things
i do and say as if he
hates me for one small thing
rather than everything
i am and believe
i am not the only hypocrite
but i hope he knows
how hard i tried
to find the balance between
standing my ground and
giving him all he wanted

i refuse to think i could
have done more to save this
i may not know what to do
what to say
how he feels
whether i made an impact
on his life or mind
but i do know that i won't
forget him, my third mistake

Posted by Jessica Englund at 08:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I've been living a double life. It doesn't require any explanation save to assert that no one knows. Perhaps you don't know what I'm talking about. There is a boy and there is a girl. I wish I could say they knew each other but that would be naive. I walk up to the boy and let him hold me, bring me close, take my limbs, place them strategically into passive positions, give me obligatory pleasure [when he feels like it], push me closer, take me [with/out asking], fails in his own masculinity, hides within himself. I walk up to the girl and hope she holds me, kisses me slowly, asks for me, pulls me closer, lets me hold her, know every aspect of her body, see me as I am. My identity on the brink of splitting lies wavering on some rudimentary scale. Soon my flesh will flee and my mind will follow as it always does. Is this really a question of identity or is this a question of personality? Am I the one on trial or is it this boy, this girl? It seems to me that either way would offer the same answer. Then why the fuck is this so hard?

Posted by Jessica Englund at 06:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)