Fuck You

We have all loved. And unfortunately the majority of us have felt the unwelcome and uninvited consequence of heartache.

For me, after having been a magnet for less-than-desirable relationships in my life time, I assumed that my first gay relationship would be one of gentleness. One of love and understanding. After all, who could know a woman’s heart but a woman? A woman would not inflict the betrayal of disloyalty upon another, a woman would identify old scars and bruises and ensure you never even remembered they were there.

Emerging from an abusive relationship with a man that hurt more than just my body, but beat my self worth into nonexistence until it was left swollen, sore to the touch and flinching at the thought of being worth anything to anyone. That’s when there was her.

A beautiful Brazilian woman, tomboyish and absolutely breathtaking. I adored her until it hurt. She grew to be my best friend in such a short time frame, but unfortunately gender does not protect against unrequited love. And although I had felt the familiar sting of love before, this one felt like it ripped my heart from my chest and killed me a thousand times over.

I sat and wrote this poem with tears smudging the ink I wrote with, and a burning in my chest I had never felt before. Looking back it was a necessary part of the healing process. Old lessons repeated until we truly take on board what we need to retain from them. In my case self love is of the upmost importance in my life, and has been constantly readdressed; and may continue to do so until I love myself so much no other could ever offer me anything less than fairytales.

So here it is...

Fuck You — In Portuguese

you couldn’t speak to me with dialect,

But what’s having a language in common worth - when I chose to speak to you without words?

When my eyes were your alphabet, and my heart your thesaurus - you must have missed the whispers in the footnotes where every inch of me fell for your silence.

If you had read between the lines you would have seen I would have been your ride or die.

Between the vowels and grammar of my lips on your neck, did you miss the shorthand that promised to adore you until language ceased to be necessary?

Every time you parted you left letters tattooed on my skin... and

every kiss I left on your thighs was poetry.

I gave you the silence in me no one else has heard, the silence no one else can ever hear - and the hieroglyphs of my soul hoped you felt it.

But of course you didn’t want a poem, or even a sonnet.

You just wanted to run your hands over my letter stained skin. You wanted you more than you ever wanted me, and I knew it.

But every time you left you took all my A’s and all my E’s and left me drained of self worth,

My fingertips erase you from the predictive text of my mind..

but in the silence without us - there is only you.

Every letter you took, was scribbled with self worth

And in your absence I wondered why my poetry wasn’t enough.

Why wasn’t I enough?

Is it my handwriting?

Is it the way my fucking ink blot stained heart loves every last inch of you...

So cold and fleeting you kept your alphabet for someone else.

But you kept mine too.

And ripped the pages of my already damaged library to burn for warmth.

Luckily, fuck you comes in many languages... and every time I scratch my nails down someone else’s back I hope you hear it.