processandinbetween reblogged
processandinbetween reblogged
She was poetry, but he couldn’t read.”
His name was jarred hes nineteen
cineflower
- rupi kaur
processandinbetween reblogged
I said no.
I’m not sure if you even remember it now, but it was November 17, 2011 and I was only sixteen. You were twenty and you were so popular.
When I moved out for college I couldn’t look at that red couch in my living room. I didn’t see a couch, but rather your hands around my throat, your fists hitting my ribs, my arms, my legs, my stomach. I was so bruised the next day.
Because I said no.
For so long I blamed my parents (for not being home)
and God (for not being there)
and myself.
Oh how I blamed myself for opening the door and letting you in.
Sometimes I still do.
I couldn’t look in the mirror for so long; when I put my makeup on I would try to do it as fast as physically possible. When I looked into my eyes, I was no longer a little girl, but an old woman who had experienced more hurt than years she had been alive.
I started acting out about a month after it happened. My parents didn’t understand. They were concerned.
I didn’t care.
If I couldn’t feel anything anymore, I was going to make someone feel something.
I didn’t tell them for nearly eight months. I told them in a hotel room in New Jersey.
My dad cried.
We filed a police report when we got home. I had to sit in a room colder than my soul and tell two detectives how you asked me for a hug, then threw me down upon my couch and choked me, hit me, ripped my clothes off of me. I was sobbing when I told them that you threatened to “do something worse” if I ever told anyone. You threatened to hurt my seven year old sister. They both cried with me as we finished up two hours later. I kept repeating-
I said no, I said no, I said no.
They brought you in for questioning that week and the detective told my mom that you laughed at my accusation. (That didn’t surprise me. My innocence was always a joke to you.)
They had nothing to hold you on- there was no evidence.
I kept having to quit my jobs because you would show up wherever I worked and just watch me. I felt like I was drowning constantly. Nowhere felt safe.
College pushed you further from my mind, but you were never completely gone. I felt gross and unwanted by everyone but mostly by myself.
The first anniversary came around and I locked myself in my dorm for most of that whole week and sobbed. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t breathe, I didn’t want to live.
The second anniversary came and I busied myself to the point where I wouldn’t let myself think. I couldn’t think.
Today marks three years since you came into my house under the guise of needing a place to hang out for a couple of hours while your best friend -my neighbor- screwed his girlfriend.
Today is the third year to the day since you raped me as I sobbed and cried, until your girlfriend called and you pulled up your pants and walked out of my house without a word, leaving me to bleed.
Today is the third year to the day since you stole my innocence and childhood.
You have a family now, a two year old son and his mother, your girlfriend.
Somehow you moved on.
Somehow you’re fine.
I’m still learning how to be.
All I can say is that I feel less broken than I did a year ago.
I am finding solace in a man who doesn’t see a victim or something tragic when he looks at me, but rather beauty in my brokeness.
Through his unconditional love, I am learning to love myself again.
And when the dark clouds roll into my mind and try to tell me that it was ‘my fault’ for letting you into my house, that I am worthless and unsavable, that I have no redeeming qualities, I am able to look those fears in the face and
I am able to say no.
I am not just a victim. - @processandinbetween (via processandinbetween)
almost 5 years
processandinbetween reblogged
I take a deep breath because I can breathe without him
but when I let it out I realize that
the weather outside feels just the same as when we met.
It's not the temperature; it's the taste of it,
as I breathe it in, it tastes like he is supposed to be here,
like I just saw him,
like he can't be gone, can't be gone.
are you sure this is over, I still have all our songs - @processandinbetween
I spend so much time coming up with rhyming schemes and it's started to translate into dating.
Tossing men out with a "you don't quite fit here, that's one syllable too many".
Nobody fits perfectly except him.
Him with his tired eyes and long excuses; him with his broken promises and quiet lies.
But rhyming doesn't mean love and he left.
Maybe I need to stop writing songs for awhile.
Remember the calm before this.
Remember late night talks, listening to our favorite songs on my apartment floor.
Remember the cheap boxed wine.
Remember that we weren't cheap.
Do not remember me crying or
the way I begged you to find another way
and for this not to end.
Do not remember me angry, please, I
hate being angry with you.
Do not remember us as a has-been,
but try to think of the 'maybe' in the future,
that's what I cling to.
Remember the way we kissed, and kissed, and kissed.
Remember me bringing you coffee and a muffin,
I drove across town for you and I wanted to.
That was my choice.
Loving you was my choice.
Please don't apologize anymore, for me falling,
for the skinned knees and how you can almost see the bone now.
Don't apologize for my tear stained pillowcases,
or how I wake up in the middle of the night because I see you
when I dream and it hurts.
I'm tired of apologies and grace and forgiveness.
But in all this I'm not tired of you.
Please remember me as whole.
Don't remember me as this.
It’s the quiet in the middle of the night that I hate; you snored, my gosh you snored.
I hate the early morning hours of silence.
You always told me that you were empty, empty like your well had run dry and you had nothing to give, empty like
your blood was gone and you were cold.
But you felt warm, like cigarettes on my porch and late nights at crappy bars where all we could look at was each other.
Your mouth never made false promises, but your arms did as they were wrapped around my shaky body.
The hope of your skin sank into my bones.
I know you never said that you were going to stay, but the way you kissed me didn’t feel like ‘just friends’, it didn’t
feel like we were ‘giving each other a little grace’.
I’m sorry that it is more healing for you to sit at bars with your friends in a state twenty-three hours away
than it is for you to sit next to me on my bedroom floor and breathe us in.
That feels like my fault.
These months tasted like forever.
processandinbetween reblogged
I wish I could have saved my first kiss for you.
My first dance for the curve of your arms, my waist fitting perfectly in your hands.
It breaks my heart that I’ve kissed other men before you, that I’ve let them taste the fullness of my mouth.
pipersprettypoems (via wnq-writers)
Source: wnq-writers.com
processandinbetween reblogged
It’s strange watching someone you used to love fall in love with someone else.
You’re fine with it. It’s been two years now, hasn’t it?
You told me that I tasted like violets.
We talked about the house we would have.
Now I am with a man who will never push me down his stairs and you love a girl better suited to deal with your drunken nights spent alone.
I hope you forget the taste of me, and I hope I forget the dying stench that the promises you broke left lingering on my sweater.
I hope you forget the kindness in my eyes, and I hope I forget the bruises I hid from my mother.
I hope you treat her better.
I hope you love her right.
pipersprettypoems (via wnq-writers)
I made it
Source: wnq-writers.com
It’s muggy here.
I know you haven’t had a summer here yet, but it’s sweltering. Your sweat will drip from your shoulder, into your eyes and it will feel suffocating.
That’s not making you stay, is it?
The people are muggy too.
They blend into the landscape with their sweet tea whispers, falling from vinegar mouths.
I keep trying to turn everything into poetry.
From the curve of your smile, the unbuttoning of our pasts, to the light that falls from your eyes.
We don’t belong here.
When I am next to you I can pretend I am in Kansas, Michigan, Idaho - anywhere that isn’t Georgia.
If the weather is so warm, why are the people this cold?
Do we have a shot of pursuing something honest in a state where everyone lies?
There have been so many times I have typed up a message to you, only to erase it and fall asleep.
Something that says “let’s just run away, let’s leave this city, this town, this state, let’s hop on a bus and go”.
Because nothing feels like running by your side.
I’m not really a writer.
I should be filling out job applications.
But, I don’t want to stay here.
But, you’re here.
But, you’re here.
Can we go out west? Let’s just visit.
Everything I learn about him just makes me ache to know more.
I am not satisfied.
Still, now, the hours pass as if they were mere seconds and every time he goes I want to say 'stay, stay, stay'.
I want to memorize everything he says. @pipersprettypoems
You're the epitome of everything I ever wanted, the embodiment of everything good in the world.
I'm just a plain girl with muddy eyes, but that Tuesday evening in Nashville, you were mine.
I was lucky, we were lucky.
I Thought You Weren't Going To Disappear. I Was Wrong.- @pipersprettypoems
You asked how I'm doing
without you
like you were some kind of lifeline.
I said I am better
(off without you)
but you think it's just a lie.
You Were Never Anyone’s Savior
You will meet a man someday and he will treat you like the most precious human being that has ever lived.
You will want to hug his mother and shake hands with his father, just to thank them for his existence.
He will let you down, but he will help you to your feet again because he loves you so much more more than any type of Romeo that you had pictured as a child.
His love will be pure, sweet, kind and true.
Without even realizing it, in the blink of an eye, his happiness will become more important to you than your own.
And that's okay.
Love him, and love him wholly.
That's the person you stay with.
That's your soul mate.
Someday You Will Come