Not Smiling with the Bow

February 22, 2016

I always thought my love for her was superficial

Carnal, rehearsed, calculated.

All my life I acknowledged my fakeness

I said what she wanted to hear

I kissed her when her body invited me

Because that was the correct response

I’m a child

I said I love you without knowing the weight of this phrase’s commitment

Even opening up to her

“Tearing down my walls”

Removing the façade

Simply act two in the romance’s story

But why

WHY IS LOSING HER SO PAINFUL

If the love was an act shouldn’t the break-up be the climax before intermission?

I don’t need onions to produce these tears

I don’t need to meditate to channel this grimaced face

Have I been captured by this persona?

A prisoner of a the personality that was never a

“You only know you loved her when she’s gone” is too cliché

It’s not me, that can’t be the motif of my art

So why am I still clutching my phone?

Why am I refreshing this page?

I never cared our social media presence before

That’s too common, too tired a joke

Why am I pounding these keys so hard?

Why is the love so questionable but the pain so indubitable?

And this isn’t just regret that the curtain has closed

Not sadness, for the grand performance comes to a close

This is duress

This is the deafening suppression of silence

This is the loss of one’s essence

This is real.

A culmination of my mistakes

Not realizing when my genuine self peeked out from behind the mask

“You changed me for the better” was not a tired line, easily swallowed, it was my truth

It was her purity defeating my vanity.

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