If anyone has ever been to a Spoken Words stage performance, you know it's deep, graphic, and creative. Each poetic brings their own twist to a magnificent story that is being told from ones own prospective. I've done a show before and proclaimed to do it again but haven't found the time (or bravery) to do so. But! This is one small piece I recently wrote while I was sitting in a hallway waiting for my friend to get home. Enjoy!
Being with him revealed the most darkest shadows of my life. He turn me into a thing; not even human, but a living organism that no one could identify. Not even me. He pulled out all my strong forces then took me by my bare skin and stripped me apart. All there was left of me was human flesh. And a heart that was unrecognizable. Doctors, nurses, they all ask, "what is that?" He took me by the hand and walked me in a circle that had no ending and no beginning; he made me question who I am and I believed him. He allowed me to bring out the best in him while I sat back and pretended I was doing it for us. He was nothing to no one and everyone told me, yet I believed him bc I thought I could change him. While in changing him, I changed who I was and lost my path, for believing I had it all under control. My inner voice told me to go, to put my trust in me. I did. I tried! Every time I walked out that door on my attempt to say good bye, I meant it; I felt it, it was fucking real. But some how, I ended back on that hallway, alone, sitting on a dirty carpet wondering "how did I get back here?" Trying to recollect the past years of my life, I realized, "I am here bc I am a fool. Bc I fed into my impulses and believed the devil that is behind this deep darkness. I am here bc I have been weaken, again by the hairy monster that prides himself on phoniness, omission, facades, and lies. I am here bc I didn't listen to myself or some how seem to have forgotten that all I've done since the day I put eyes on that man was suffer and watch myself wither away to place I can't escape. I've drowned myself in believing this was love. People say love hurt, but this wasn't pain. This was a deep look into the other side. The side we often refer to as hell. Yeah, this was fucking hell. And I stupidly sat on the passenger side. Allowing this fool to drive. How, I ask? What ever have come of me? I say this is my last time, but I've said that before. I want to fucking mean it already. When does the last time really become the last time? Bc he told me he loved me and I believed him. The fool is I, not him. This is no longer his problem. But mine.
