Worth Gold

“You accept the love you think you deserve.” I struggled through trying to figure out how we didn’t fit in this equation.

This is the first time I’m not wondering if I’m enough. Because I’m use to men who love to kiss girls like me. Men who think girls like me are cute for short term flings. But don’t want to build other things. Because the last guy who laid in my bed, whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and still told me about girls who didn’t look like me. And I wasn’t sure if I was jealous because I liked him or just ashamed that I wasn’t worth his affections. Acting out as though that would change his mind. Thinking that if I take on her personality and he’ll love me more.

But I worked hard on me. To try to figure out who I thought I was meant to be. I focused daily trying to build this self esteem. Repeating that I’m light and love. Even when I felt dark and alone. Reminding myself that I should be enough, if only just for me.

And that’s just a cop out because now even though I know I’m enough, I realize I may be just too much for you. When he spoke those words, I shook my head instantly connecting it to us, not wanting to accept the fact that I’m settling. I shouldn’t need a quote to tell me that this isn’t my ideal situation but I do. Accepting the things you can’t change is cheesy when I could be holding another man’s hands. So I remind them that the heart wants what it wants. And I’m going to stick around until “I love you but I love me more.”

Your Second Poem

The butterflies traveled from navel to chest. Holding it in wasn’t working anymore. I choked on my own words as they escaped out. “Hello.” My voice broke, betraying how nervous I was. You’re only response was to look down at me from the corner of your eye. I shut up.

I use to speak to you so easily. Freely without fear of judgment. Now I worry I won’t have enough time for each word. Sentences jumble together. I’m scared you won’t understand me so my thoughts race trying to catch up to my mouth. 

Walking past, I reminded myself not to reach out for you. Not to grab at the hem of your pants as though you were Jesus and I needed healing from this pain you’re putting me through. This is suffering and you are not my savior.

And you realize but don’t care that I’m sensitive. I’m easily hurt and right now? Right now I’m licking each wound created in your presence. I’m pacing back and forth, waiting for you to glance my way if only for a second. I’m hoping we lock eyes and your face tells me that I’m still enough. We won’t. I’ll continue putting my energy towards someone who doesn’t offer any back. 

There’s no beauty in a broken heart caused by someone you never had a real thing with. And there’s no advice for getting over something you have no name for.

Unicorns Might Exist

I only read about unicorns in fairy tales and tumblr posts. Mystical creatures once hunted for their healing horns. Julius Caesar believed that once made into a cup, it could protect a person from poison cleverly snuck into their drink.

I never thought that I’d see one in real life until I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection. The moment they find out my secret, suddenly I am far too beautiful to be let go of. I have just enough of a glow to capture their attention, through the throngs of people. I am mystical. Precious.

They stare at my mouth, breasts, touch my thighs as they ask whether or not I’m into them. How am I to lie about a part of myself? Who am I to deny myself me? I nod yes, remaining quiet. They continue to do all the talking as though they are reading my every thought and I don’t have a word to say.

I want to stop them, mid sentence and remind them at I am not just a creature here to please them simply because we enjoy the same things and people. They cannot harvest my horn for their own greedy intentions. I do not protect them against the poisons flowing through their blood stream.

No More

I promise this is the last poem I’m writing about a broken heart. I know you’re getting tired of these so I mean it. I understand because I’m getting tired of trying to figure out how I continue to find myself in this situation.

It’s just that he came into my life like a whirlwind and I wasn’t ready for the gift of love that he planned to give me. I was scare, nervous, and unsure of what I wanted. So I hesitated and he understood his position in my world. And as soon as he came, he went.

When he returned, I found myself ready to give love. I missed him. I actually really liked him. I allowed words to move above action and listened to everything he had to say. He claimed my guard was up and no one could get close to me. So I took a moment to actively break it down.

But, inconsistency, potential girlfriends, and high hopes are dream crushers. 

This is my last poem about a broken heart. Rushed like our relationship.


I thought about it. No longer sitting on my mind like a lifeless doll, it came to life. Alluring. I actually considered following it today.

I knew I didn’t have the necessary tools but my old friend would help me find them. In a city where people come to fulfill their every desire, mine could be a part of them. All I would need is a train and that’s pretty easy. They’re all around me. Or better yet, maybe something less inconvenient for others. And I’m sure I could find something that wasn’t so disfiguring.

In between thoughts, he happened to text me. A day later, he asked how I was and although my fingers did the talking, I still found myself spitting out everything on my mind. I told him. He told me, someone close on him had followed through but failed. I knew he told me on purpose. To remind me that if she could live through this life that I could too.

But I’m not her. I’m definitely me. And I’m definitely not strong enough to stop following this demon. So I allowed it to guide me into traffic, wondering if the bus would be as painful as the train might be. It wasn’t a sure thing and I needed the promise that this would be forever.

We’ve been on and off for years now. I almost let it talk me into playing its game but I couldn’t break her heart. I wouldn’t leave her wondering how her sister could have been seduced by a demon masquerading as a beautiful doll.

So pretty, black and red. Its claws gently caressing my back, creating designs I couldn’t see but felt so right. Mouth full of teeth grinning at me, a grotesque smile. Charming and sharp. Its voice was musical, calming, rocking me into a sleep. Telling me to finally become one with it.

Now here I am, alone. Struggling to place the doll back on the shelf. Not strong enough to end this tragic relationship. And too scared to follow it into the dark.



I’m lonely and I’m not ashamed to admit that but I don’t know how to counteract this feeling sitting in my stomach heavy as stone. Every morning waking up alone I’m unsure how to react to seeing my wall and not feeling an arm wrapped around my waist. Constantly calling on souls who can’t love me out this feeling.

I understand why I can only write about heartache and men who only love my body. Empty promises and full vessels don’t go together. Loneliness is sweeping me off my feet but I’d rather stay on the ground.

It’s Not Your Day

I didn’t call you the other day. I reminded myself multiple times, many ways. Even set my phone to let me know. But I worked that night so I allowed the thought to slip from my mind, between my fingers, and into the trash.

I made sure to call another man, who reminded me of you, before the afternoon had even started. I wanted to make sure he knew so his heart wouldn’t be heavy as the hours passed. But for you, those hours became long and my voice never hit your ears.

My memories of you were pleasant until recently. Until I was told about your past. Until I was told how you treated her and how you now treat my own. With anger masking the hurt, you wondered why I couldn’t take the time to listen to the phone dial your number that constantly changed. Why I couldn’t take a moment to ask how your day was. Even as I stood in your presence why my hugs were short and my kiss goodbye came too soon.

It’s because their memories of you aren’t so pleasant. Their memories of you are full of pain and I will not be the one to continue to pass them down. He told me he remembers telling her to leave you. When I asked if you had hit her, he was almost positive you did. When her son was born, you looked her in the eyes and said, “I will not raise another man’s child” before you kicked her out. The tough love was not worth all that, as she attempted to succeed in a world already set to watch her fail. You later fixed your mouth to call her a “bitch” when she needed you to be her support and I cannot stand by as you treat her as though she is not deserving of love and kindness.

You never told me you didn’t love me. You always took the time to watch me as I made my own path and I never seen you angry with me. But these memories are stronger than my own and I will be okay as I break this chain, knowing what you put them through.

There is no Happy Father’s Day for men who haven’t earned it.