Who am I to find myself seated beside a man again? I gargled the last bit of my margarita, before throwing a sweater over my shoulders and heading out. He begun to look like everything I knew in my spirit I couldn't handle. Honesty-- Care--and Future. I found myself on the J train heading to my house, hoping to become sober , hoping to forget the look I gave. You know the look.. Something between "God don't let me feel this." "And damn a little fire won't hurt."
I left my quondam life on two avenues I'll never find myself on again. In a building with stairs I'll never hold my breath to climb. I left my past in text that read, "If anything happens here's my shared location and my Mom's number." I left torment on the second floor of the warehouse in Bushwick. The key here is I left.
But what was stopping me or anyone else like me from those gentle triggers. The bullet in the back of your mind that recaptures every portrait of misery. I thought the shove into the wall, would have been my breaking point. But I still went back, I still hankered for the chance to be in your corner. Rooting.
Here I was a new year, a new person. But somehow a pillow flying across a teen lounge, launched me back into fright, back to the days where water and words were weapons. How do you explain to someone new that you can't seem to forget those parts of your story. And as much as you'd rather be the victor then the victim you need them to consider it on the days they want to give up. That ghosting, flirting, cheating, hands, and broken hearts are all dysfunctional chapters of emotional abuse. ALL Factors that you don't hold them accountable for, but you've experienced at jarring rates. That you're a warrior because you were left with no other option.