My tragedy is that he never loved me
He being all men
Or rather every man that has ever called me “baby”
Every man that has ever held my attention,
The ones I paused to consider with my forgiving heart
This is my tragedy:
He wasn’t sweet to me
My preferences weren’t considered
Either he fucked too fast or
Was such a bore that I couldn’t bring myself to fake a moan for his masculinity
He didn’t choke me when I wanted to be choked
Didn’t put his hands in my hair and tug just the right amount
He didn’t cuddle me as I slept,
his broad chest didn’t call me home to safety
when I awoke
He was rough with his hands when he was angry
Cruel with his words
when one cruel comment broke me
My tragedy is that I have always been alone
Even when my body was claimed by him
Even when I loved him just because I needed to love
Needed to feel something for somebody
To escape the emptiness of my existence
So much so that I didn’t run when he hit me
Didn’t leave when he admitted that I wasn’t pretty enough
Skinny enough
Quiet enough
My tragedy is that men have failed me
That loving him never lifted me up
Beautiful though I am,
Strong in my story…
He wasn’t able to keep me from being kind
From smiling at him…
He couldn’t steal me away from myself
Radiant in laughter,
I’m alive though he surely tried to kill me.
His tragedy being that he did not pause to love me.
Poetry on Paper 