Untitled II

he reluctantly walked me up the stairs of his wife’s new house

trying unsuccessfully to feign happiness.

she was there too,

fighting gravity for a smile;

defeated in every battle.

I walked into the room and immediately hated it.

the stiffness of the air,

the white wicker dressers,

exaggerated wicker headboard jolting from confining white walls,

a small television lay perched on the dresser-

no not the dresser with the rounded mirror,

the one across from the bed…

the bed’s dull yellow sheets adorned with blooming buds-

surely I was not meant to bloom here.

 there was a picture window across from the door,

mocking me,

showing me all those things that i could never be;

free like the birds,

strong like the trees.

luckily the verticals were tainted this view.

the room was hell, but his presence was worst;

burning me, pulling me under, suffocating me,

I would soon drown in my own disgust.

be dismembered by my own idiocrisy-

ashamed that I loved the very man that brought about my insecurities,

obscurities,

and embedded within me 4,380 nights of misery.

“I hate him because of what he has done to me.”

 I was left alone for the first of many moons and cried

and cried

until death came and awoke me from my slumber

and because of this days events and all that follow,

I was revived and delivered strong as trees

free as the birds,

and I stopped hating him and started loving me.