takotsubo

It’s not the one
I fell for, head-over-heels,
madly in love with,
the one, with his soft,
gentle nature and his
calming ways,
the one for whom I thought
no other word than, home
would fit meaning
as understanding like
I’ve never known before—
No. You know,
it was the one,
the one so disinterested,
ambiguous,
narcissistic,
and exactly like my
childhood
abuser.
That one.
He destroyed me.
And I take
short, measured breaths
as each sun waxes the horizon
and as each moon wanes.
And I hear a Whispering Breeze
and it taunts me
it screams and it screeches:
You were always
nothing.
No thing, ever loved
or cherished
or treasured.
Just disposable
Replaceable.
Abandoned.
Trash,
left out;
rubbish
on a Tuesday.

© Grace Black
grace/no explanations

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