This Love. (Spoken Word)

How do I begin…

because this wasn’t love.

Love is not made of

healing wounds,

stitching scars or

catching my bruises.

 

We weren’t made to break,

and put each other

back together.

 

My long lost treasure.

 

The little girl of my

past never dreamed

of

this love.

 

It was never on my cards.

 

We are never born to

believe that love is

meant to fix,

hold us together

when the end comes to call.

 

I believed that my

love would draw out

your poison.

 

Replace it with my

own self esteem.

 

Hail you the King to my Queen,

the knight to my

shining armour.

 

We never bloomed

flowers,

just weeds,

and we were afraid to pull them up,

so we let them infect,

and they spread through our veins.

 

We told ourselves that

everything was the same,

that we were okay.

 

The love we practised

would never heal our

past, or make us

better

people.

 

Our love would never

bloom a garden in

our chests.

 

Our love was never love.

 

Because you don’t hurt,

you don’t break,

you don’t wipe away

what the person you

love made.

 

This love was not what

we believed,

or what others perceived.

We were a chapter,

a paragraph,

a short few seconds in

our epic blockbusters.

 

A cameo of what could have been.

 

What we could

see,

but never became.

 

This love would

never fix,

but break again and

again.

 

My love was never

made to heal,

or to pretend that

this issue

was never real.

 

It was never born to

mourn your past,

or who you once

were.

 

My love was never

made for you,

or us.

 

And for that,

 

I am sorry.

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