My first attempt ever at a spoken word poem. (NOTE: the effect won’t be the same written down, so try saying it out loud if you can). ALSO: I wrote this based off of a poem I read earlier today about the dating cycle (aka, I was hurt once so I’ll hurt you and you’ll in turn hurt someone else etc.) and I wish I could give the person who wrote it credit but I can’t find the link anymore. Enjoy.
Quote, “Promise me you won’t fall in love with me”, un-quote.
Not that you’d want to. Awkward, tall, awkwardly tall now that I think about it, and too sane to be crazy, or is it the other way around? Either way in every way, don’t think this way will be permanent. I’m not a permanent person, whatever that means.
Whatever you do, don’t start to love me. I’ll make it harder for you if it helps. Not that I’m already any such delicate and simple flower; I’m more like a thistle, a cactus. I’m thorny and rough and dangerous to young minds, and these protruding spikes should get my point across but just in case they don’t let me hurt you once, just a bit, until you get the idea.
I’m a cactus. Look but don’t touch. Admire from afar and don’t get too close to feel my sting. I have given you fair warning.
Don’t hold my hand, hold my attention. Don’t call me “babe”, call me at two in the morning to come over. Don’t ask to see more of me, ask to see “more of me”.
Don’t let your heart trick your mind into thinking this means anything.
I’m telling you right now that if your fingers find their way venturing to my side of the bed at four a.m. they will find nothing but a cold shoulder. My body does not welcome “that kind of touch”. Just so we’re clear, my spikes can get aggressive past midnight.
Don’t cry because we have an expiration date but enjoy the fruits before they spoil. Enjoy this now, while it’s still here.
I can see the pain clouding your eyes and turning your accusations into a river of regret that pours over your face like a flood, a tidal wave. Will I choke on the words at the back of my mouth when I remind you that I told you so?
Was I always this much of a stone cold bitch? No, I don’t think so.
Once upon a guy, I was the one who reached out and grabbed emptiness. I called him “everything” before I could call myself anything and I pretended he felt the same way when he called me beautiful. I wonder if he reads the words I wrote to him still or if he ever did more than glance.
My fingers entwined with his as his mind wandered away from me. I could hold him the way I could hold smoke: never longer than a second.
He didn’t even flinch when he told me that I had known what this was from the beginning. I’d like to think I didn’t.
He ruined me. And in turn, if you ignore my warning, I will ruin you.
When I say the dreaded patterned words: You knew What This Was, I wonder if I will be able to see the shadow of the girl you say those words to dance across your face. I wonder if you will see the reflection of the boy who said those words to me in my eyes.
I wonder if I will ever be ruined again or if I will forever be the ruiner.