The Riddle of Pain

It's difficult for me to be me around him.
When I feel like I am too much, I am compelled to withdraw.
This happens so often.
He may think I am needy but actually I just want to feel special, loved, trusted, needed, and useful.
Nothing wrong with that. When I am Powerful, I am all of this and more.
But right now, I am only pained confusion.

He does not understand.
Is it that he is too young? I don't know.
His heart is pure; he is a blind multifaceted butterfly made purely of glass.
Something deep inside me tells me that his heart will never be mine, it will always be passively shared,
between me and the one that could have been.

My tears, they fall uncontrollably;
my heart, it burns indefinitely;
my thoughts, they mull unabashedly;
my emotions, they run unreservedly:
is it love or lust, I will never know.
But at this moment in time, I want something that is shackled to a thousand rock skeletons
adorned with relic jewels. It is so far out of my reach that I wonder, "why bother."
Except, the bother is why I wake up in the morning.

The slow and precise distortion of scar tissue is what takes place now, underneath the skin of reality.
His aloof nature and ignorant mannerisms torturously pick away at the fresh flesh that now coats
my heart.
Yet, there is a luxurious freedom to be needed there waiting to be claimed… it is there, where is it?
I can't find it without being injured by sharply-edged fatal obstacles with a stench of poison.

I know why. But I can't tell him.

He doesn't know that the rhythm of my heart coincides with his vibration…
He doesn't know how much pain I feel when he hurts me.
How I have not had a heart attack from the number of times my heart has skipped a beat
just by thinking about him.
His name causes bullets to be lodged and also butterflies to be released.
If he knew how impatient I was to see him, he would surely run.
The Being that is him cries but he locks Him up and hides the key in a treasure chest.

I sometimes crave him but he does not see it.
If he saw it, nothing would happen.
He is so resistant to change that he may as well be mummified himself.
His sharply-defined aloofness is what will push me off the edge, send me home unpacked and rioted.

If he truly saw the fields within me, he would cry.
If he gazed upon the massacred shards (formerly my heart), he would run.
But… if he truly felt my cry for help, he would be at peace with it all.
But he pretends to be ignorant, he hides in what he knows and his creature comforts,
not wanting to venture into the unknown, risking himself for what he claims is worth fight for…
his forced idiocy strikes at the centre of my scorned gut.

The truth is… he will only understand if he takes the risk.
Love is a fallacy for him, love is a Life for me.
The truth is…
I will only crush that nurtured youthful kindred soul that lies deep within his Being because
he will not be strong enough to master the intricate webs that lead to my Soul.
I am a mess.
He says I am his mess yet I feel discarded,
like second hand charity that is unclaimed, unwanted, abandoned.

He doesn't need this.
He doesn't need my chest of knock-off injuries, my kist of depression,
my closet of sullen and broken dreams.
He knows already but he is too kind to walk away.
He is slowly noticing that the cracks in the porcelain have made me damaged goods,
capable of being rejected, and he needs to quickly discard me.
He is noticing that the pedestal that he placed me on was unwarranted, undeserved.
He noticing that what he thought he wanted is not within me.
He is noticing that this one must go…

And so… it will be.

x