random poem #6: ode to the boy who stole (among other things) my right to an opinion
i reached out to you,
held my hand out
while you were stranded
on a desert island,
full of fear and worry,
anger and despair.
i offered you my hand,
where you could rest
and be free from the demons
in your head,
that threatened to let out
everything you’ve hidden through all these years.
you didn’t take me up on my offer,
so i taught you to swim instead.
i taught you that there was so much life
outside of this island
that you were forced to call home.
i taught you how to leave
and escape your imprisonment,
and enjoy life for what it was.
after all this effort,
i wish i could say
that this story has a happy ending,
for at least one of us,
i don’t know if you truly made it out alive,
or if the jungle on your island
swallowed you whole,
and only spit out your worst parts.
and in case anyone was wondering,
the narrator of this story
doesn’t fall in love
with the broken boy
from the deserted island.
and she doesn’t fall in love at all.
because as it turns out,
fiction is to remain fiction,
and what the broken girl didn’t know
was that entitlement tended to hide behind
a facade of compassion.
the broken girl realized all too late,
that the broken boy from the island
was nothing more than a figment of her imagination,
and the reality held a different boy,
one that did,
grab the hand that the broken girl offered,
but instead of using it
as a bridge to the good inside of him,
he sunk the broken girl,
until she could no longer breathe.
because what the boy didn’t realize,
was that the broken girl had an opinion,
and he couldn’t stand another being
contradicting what he believed was true.
the fact of the matter was
the boy was in love with the broken girl,
but he didn’t truly know her,
he just knew that her scars matched his own,
and he had never seen anyone
so strong in his life,
and he couldn’t handle,
the broken girl being able
to resist him,
he had already made her his inside his head.
so the boy did what he was always taught to do,
he defended his honor,
and sunk that beautiful, broken girl,
she could no longer breathe,
no longer speak,
no longer express an opinion opposite to his.
the broken narrator lives on,
without an opinion,
but lives on,
breathless, beautiful, and broken,
while the broken boy still breathes,
in shallow broken breaths,
from broken lungs,
that surround a beautiful, broken heart,
which holds the beautiful broken girl’s brain,
opinions, innocence, and all.