I Lit the Match

Maybe I’ll just stand here.

Stand for what I know.

Stand for what I want.

Or maybe this is the moment when I am meant to walk away.

Walk through heaven.

Walk through hell.

Maybe this is my sign.

My sign that I need to start over.

My sign that I need to move on.

Burning bridges in the distance.

Arson in the flesh.

Causalities in the flame.

This is where I begin again.

 

I walked.

I walked away.

From everything I knew.

From everything I know.

To the closest coast, and the farthest mountain.

I left you, I left us, I left our future.

I left our past.

On that bridge.

Up in flames.

I left the remnants of who I used to be.

 

When we met, you were scarred.

Unable to see passed today.

You were done.

Done with life.

Done with living.

I was optimistic I could show you a new life.

A new way to live.

A new way to love.

And I was going to hold your hand every step of the way.

 

You became my best friend.

And I fell in love with you.

           

You were insecure.

Convinced you were not worthy of love.

Any love.

Parents left.

The mirror.

A constant reminder of your loneliness.

A surface to escape reality.

Distant.

Yet you let me in.

 

You gave me a reason to live.

A reason to survive.

A reason to strive.

I didn’t know myself.

I didn’t know you.

I just knew I was going under.

And you were the preserver.

I was my own worse enemy.

But you, you became my friend.

You became my influence.

You became my crutch for daily life.

 

I thought I was the only one.

Feeling the way that I did.

Lost and unsure.

Walking around in a perfect veneer.

Afraid, for the future.

 Scared, of the unknown.

Terrified, of loneliness.

But you were there too.

I was just too blind to see.

Until you were sitting directly beside me.

 

Our first date.

Wasn’t a date at all.

We sat on the grass.

Damp from the dew.

At 4 in the morning.

You called me and asked me to come with you.

Not a booty call.

Just company.

We sat in a sultry silence.

Beneath the stars.

Surrounded by darkness.

Lost in our inexplicably harsh thoughts.

 

I walked beside you.

Dozens of times before you told me your story.

Told me your fears.

Your losses.

Your desire for the undesirable.

We walked, close enough for comfort.

But far enough to not be intrusive.

 

You distracted me from my friends.

From my work.

From the things I had once thought important.

You distracted me from reality

At a time when distraction was my only mean for survival.

 

When you kissed me.

I flinched.

Not because I didn’t like it.

I really liked it.

But because I felt like I was going to vomit.

I had never been so nervous.

This was after my first line.

This is when you decided to really let me in.

 

You were selfish.

You were careless.

You were intoxicating.

You were cancerous.

You were the worst thing to ever happen to me.

 

The day you asked me to leave.

Leave with you.

To go far away as we could.

I felt inebriated with love.

Belligerent off this feeling.

This feeling you provided for me.

 

When we left I didn’t know where we would go.

How far we would walk.

How we would survive.

Where we would get our next score.

Where we would live.

But I didn’t care.

I wanted to be with you.

I needed it.

And you provided both to me.

 

You told me you loved the way I looked.

The day I cried for what I had left behind,

The sad look of insecurity.

The crazed look of desperation.

The yearning look of addiction.

 

You forced me into it.

 

We had no money.

Couldn’t afford a home.

Food.

Drugs.

 

We needed our next score.

You said it was my turn.

I needed it.

I craved your approval.

I desired your love.

And I did what you asked of me.

I did it over and over again.

You didn’t care who.

You didn’t care where.

You just cared about our next hit.

And that’s all I cared about too.

 

One day I felt ill.

And then the next.

And the next.

I began to grow.

Breasts.

Abdomen.

 

That was the day you stopped caring.

Caring about me.

Caring about us.

That was the day you tried to kill me.

 

You called me a w***e.

I only did what you asked.

You called me easy.

I only did what you said was necessary.

You kicked me.

And again.

I bled.

 

You left me to die.

On that bridge, you tried to burn.

But I survived.

I was found.

And I escaped.

You are a murderer.

And that deserves it’s own karmic revenge.

 

 

I walked.

One day.

Passed that bridge.

Five years later.

Five years sober.

Alone.

Unable to reproduce.

Unable to explain why.

Death sentence.

The death sentence that you gave me.

I walked passed that bridge.

Shaky, yet standing.

Broken, yet functioning.

I stood above the water.

And saw the reflection of who I used to be.

 

Unable to live.

Expiration date stamped on my young life.

You did this to me.

I blame you.

I blamed you.

I blame me.

I stood upon that bridge.

I stood upon my past.

 

I lit the match.

The match that burned the bridge.

The bridge burned.

And moved on.

To the further.

To reason.

And to a life worth living.

 

 

Author's Note

Ignore Grammar, does the concept make sense?

Reviews

[M. A. Kilcorse]

With creative writing, grammar functions is as you define it, so, don't feel too hung up on it. So long as it serves the purpose of your writing, then it's good :) This is an amazing poem. I journey with this girl through her life and hardships. You took fifteen years of living with pain and condensed it too a page. Needs a little bit of polishing, but otherwise, truly remarkable.

[Nick Patrick]

Grammar isn't that bad. I think that there can be no one singular concept derived from your fictional free verse. One of the concepts that struck me from reading your poem is the destruction of identity through parasitism. The idea that an originally mutualistic and symbiotic relationship (love) turned into self destruction. Symbiotic because of the need for the other person. Parasitic in a sense that the symbiosis became an inner destruction through the workings of the once mutualistic. The thing needed becomes the destruction. The healthy bacteria became malaria. And only once the parasite has been expelled can liberation ensue and self defence mechanisms against the next predator be adapted. The idea that love, like the parasite, can be a mobile, destructive wave that has the capabilities to drive behaviours/identity to the extreme. That is the main concept (among many) that I derived from your poem :)

[Natasha Millman]

This is a fictional piece btw

[Pixieinflight]

Yes! I feel your pain and applaud your strength