To My Valentine

Tue, 08/02/2016 - 00:47 -- CafeLit

You’re not a poet

And for that I’m glad

But still your words drip like honey

Your lie sings like a promise

And like a musician

You play the strings of my heart like a violin

While your words resound like a trombone

Loud and interrupting

Unfortunate and disarming

Until I can’t help but fall prey to the art of your smile

 

A Picasso of my clarity

A Van Goh of my sanity

Your fingers trace and feather like a paint brush

Drawing a beautiful pattern with your skin,

Painting my conscience with every shade of blues

And pinks and reds

Of forget-me-not carnations

As you traced the spaces

That used to house burst vessels

Colored in a Valentine’s mess of a palette

Where my skin blossomed with a dull pain

That was at least familiar

 

Your eyes became an ocean

And all I could see was blue

A change from the warmth of the brown eyes

That helped me into the ground, casket-sized

I found myself slowly drowning

In the oblivion that your teal possesses

And I became a sailor

Wandering through the navigation of your caresses

I wonder as I lay beneath the blanket of a starry night

Whether the stars I saw in your eyes

Was a glimmer of light

Or the moon, reflecting the stars that you have past burnt out

A fools-gold deceit,

that has the tendency to shroud my sight

 

Suddenly I am blind

I am feverishly reaching out to a companion

That has done little more than abandon

In this time of wary, I’m afraid my voice is barely

Able to speak above a whisper

Until finally I am mute

And the truth that used to tremble

In the beating of those drums

Continues to crumble

 

I am all but numb to your fantasy

That once felt so real to me

But now all that it is to me

Is plastic

And I can’t expel your words, recycling through my being

When it finally decomposes

It rots my insides, oh the mocking voices

I wish I could smile again

But the metallics catch my teeth

It wears down on my fibers

And causes a cavity

Hollowed as my chest

All I can feel is hallowed death

When my mind becomes quiet

 

And, finally

These metaphors mean nothing to me

Less than I did to you, if that’s even possible

But when the impossible became plausible

I didn’t know how to cope

When this love that felt so pure to me

Dispersed and diluted

As a watercolor tainted

By the roughness of a line

Almost as rough as the callouses ingrained in your hand

As your calloused words ingrained into my skull

 

It formulated a story in my portrait

It was not a mirror, and your words have never felt more bitter

Than the dark chocolate that was sweet,

Once upon a time

In the heart-shaped box that you kept to yourself

My own personal cage

Until now…

 

Because I am gone, I was never there

Because you never took the time to anchor me

You never truly allowed me to be yours to lose

 

I was simply yours to use

 

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741