#breakup vent poetry

[poempoetryandmore]

i think i‘ll always love you

even if its just a little bit

ten years from now a piece of my heart will still beat for you

maybe its the curiosity of ,what if‘

or maybe its the emptiness speaking

but nomatter why,

i‘ll always love you

[borntobekings]

Your face, your race, the way that you talk–  I kiss you, you’re beautiful, I want you to walk DAVID BOWIE

I cheated myself Like I knew I would– I told you I was trouble, You know that I'm no good AMY WINEHOUSE

the fortuneteller’s breakup poem

The time you spent this spring planting grains of enchanted stardust in the capillaries of my lungs with every kiss (where the force of your everything swept them into my heart and they latched on inside its ventricles and bloomed,  scented with ozone and perfume musk, into full-fledged inferno vampire supernovas suckling on my psychic energy with the pulse of their eternal self-annihilating explosions every time you showed me a scar on your heart and told me its story),  

all the while hoping I would cough up enough stellar gold to pay off your emotional debt to yourself in a single lump sum of true love,

would have been better spent tending to your own orchard where the trees that blazed with flowers when I walked through on your guided tour hang their heavy branches full of the fruit that addiction grows, luscious pomegranates from a whiskey-soaked underworld already on the brink of falling to earth upon your frenetic life in a splattering shower of bloody consequences.

* * *

This is a series of images and a story. This is the truth and a mess of illusions decaying like radioactive particles.

In March of 2023 I experienced an alien abduction, by which I mean I attracted the attention of the wrong beautiful person, and I opened up my chest and gave them my heart, and they scooped it up and ate it in one bite and then came back for seconds.

This is vent poetry about a relationship that lasted forty days like a Biblical flood of mediocre whiskey and calculated affection. This is one last unpaid fortunetelling session for my ex.

That drunk bitch never paid me in anything but drinks on their tab at the bar, but even so, when I finally get their hooks out of my heart I’ll bleed more prophecy for them, no cards or tea leaves required, this time clear of the fog of love.

You made me promises like mushrooms grow after the rain, like dessert before dinner, empty calories wrapped in that lilting queer voice that I could never hear enough from, till my affection-starved trans spirit grew so bloated with desire I puked emotions on your lap, and every time I came back for another serving, my eyes so much bigger than my stomach and full of starlight under the deceiving moon,

where the ghost-light cast by your glamours drew forth luminous shadows from your heart in its impenetrable glass cage (where its best side, most fetchingly scarred, was always turned towards me), softening to my dazzled eyes the places where its torn edges scratched my skin and brought my blood out for you to lap up;

I know now every upwelling drop scored you a point in one game we played,

(we played many games, or anyway you played many games with me and the rules were always of your construction)

our torrid match-up of sweetly jaded gold star they gay dripping in charisma and cheap liquor and vulnerable smitten transfag poet wreathed in pot smoke and low self-esteem

two dueling divas competing at new love as if a win would cure them of their trauma.

* * *

When you have been kidnapped by the fae, you are said to be under the hill.

I was under the hill with this glamorous creature for less than six weeks from the moment they first asked to kiss me, so politely with such a light in their eyes, to the moment I packed up my things at the bar saying, “Talk to you when you’re sober,” and walked out to the beat of them shouting, “Oh maybe you won’t!” 

A hundred or more romantic moments from those forty days linger in my mind, a gigaton of vicarious trauma from their personal confessions sticks to my soul. Their handful of songs at karaoke have laid down entrenched earworm tracks inside my head; I drag my feet on ripping them out through exposure to the original recordings because no cis girl pop star has that angel voice going straight from my eardrums through my spine to my engorged psychic dick, ten stories high on the astral plane and pulsing at the tip with a beacon that shouts, “Use me, all glamor gays within eighteen degrees of cisgender, my earthly body has a hole exotic enough to soothe your trauma!”

I can still see the mischievous gleam in their eyes when they bragged about the size of their dick as clearly as I can the consuming void in their thousand-yard stare when they described to me in gruesome specifics, three weeks after first kissing me, how they were tortured as a teenager. I remember perfectly how softly and precisely they confessed their desire for my sex and their fantasies of how it would magically heal them, and the way their voice snapped when they so clearly detailed how a previous boyfriend tried to kill them.

Slime trails left by a useless drunken ghost. The decaying remnants of all those phantom sequins on the red flags. Ectoplasm clogging up my brain. I am out of that fae dream palace beneath the hill into such sunlight as this city has but I am still squinting miserably in the glare of reality, struggling to rip the shadows from my face.

* * *

“Hurt people hurt people,” as I’m sure you know, my fucked-up falsetto never-lover, in your infinite traumaqueer wisdom and compassion,

which is why you (motivator, counselor, healer) pretend you’re not a trembling pulsar of psychic damage, forever a single degree of the sun from exploding, held together by the gravity of your own lonely pride:

the same pride that decided not to fuck your trans boyfriend till you could clean the liquor from your soul;

a new hole would be a reward like none other, and besides, you can see the hurt in his eyes from a long-dead father as drunk as you are every time the whiskey burns your silver tongue, and surely you, savior of the earth from on high, can fix that with your sober sex even as you fix yourself,

unless, of course, you implode at the last moment in a black hole of panicky self-sabotage, afraid of the starry-eyed love he offers,

knowing that like every other ex you claim in your stable he will bend the knee and stay your friend, safer this way and still in love with you,

except (still in love with you, if only in pockets of freeze-dried time vacuum-sealed away in his heart) he fucking doesn’t because the traditional people-pleasing and fear of abandonment only goes so far and, honey, even flat on my ass with a freshly broken heart I’ve got pride too.

* * *

It goes like this in the traditional sequence of cards: the Devil, the Tower, the Star, the Moon, the Sun. But sometimes in the beguiling moonlight the Devil drags the Star down into the teetering Tower in flames and they never make it free to the bright heavens.

I’m not working a spell or casting a curse. This is just prophecy, true as Apollo’s brilliant arrows.

I took my heart whitewater rafting on a torrent of glamour and fell in love with an ungodly mess, and this is what I get. Sometimes you need to look back behind you before you leave the underworld, because Eurydice is a soul-draining siren and you’re better off alone.

If I close my eyes I can see where they’re headed. A shooting star on fire crashing into the earth, a promising career tanked, a car wrapped around a tree like when I was seven and my father got sent to AA with a revoked driver’s license.

I loved this bitch with all my impulsive heart and they let me down. I won’t say I’m not bitter. But I don’t need to waste energy cursing them. They’ll fuck their own shit up soon enough.

Before that happens, I’m throwing them out of my heart.

* * *

The narrow moon tells lies as it wanes and waxes in a sky turned blank black velvet by city lights, a silver-white sliver of illusion,

but tonight it hangs full to bursting; it sweeps away lies with its light and penetrates self-deception like teeth,

which is why I say I still love who I loved– but who I loved

was a specter of beauty and lovingkindness projected out of who you really are like an anglerfish’s lure,

no more real than your fantasy of me as a source of effortless healing:

I see you as you are,

entangled with your own pain and collapsed in on yourself from the force of your vain gravity, imagining fake hearts for those around you while breaking the real ones again and again;

I pity you as you are, and pity is not love,

nor will pity save you when you finally learn that trying to drown your troubles just teaches them how to breathe underwater.

I exhale the stardust of your beautiful unrealized soul from my system and watch it run out of my hands between my fingers,

I let love drain out of my heart like alien sand from a broken hourglass,

I close my chest up and cover it in armor when I am my own again,

because I have fortunes still to tell for people who will heed them,

poems yet to write for people who will listen,

jokes to make and laughter to spark,

and more love waiting out there for me than your eggshell heart could ever hold;

I never needed you to prove I can be desired and I do not need you now,

when the light of the full moon has shown me the truth and washed you from my affections

leaving me clean enough to love myself and let you go.

[griefshand]

i want to go home

[paragon-httyd]

it hurts to express

yet i yearn to explain

[transcendencepheonix]

Sometimes randomly I remember your hands on my body, and I want to rip my skin off.

[sapphos-roommate]

I think something is broken inside of me.

I am in love with the idea of falling in love

I want so desperately to be known

and touched

and seen

but I shy away when it is offered to me

Even when I have the courage to grip it tight

somehow it slips through my fingers

Why is it so hard for me to just be happy?

I just want to be happy.

[loverssfevers]

the words are on the tip of my tongue but i cant seem to get them out. i can say that i hate you but i cant describe what that means, other than the fact i cant stand the sight of you but i still have our polaroid on my wall, i cant speak your name but i still look for it in my notifications, i want to delete your contact but what if one day you need me or worse i need you? its the fact my life is better now and i want you to see it but i dont want to see yours. i can say that i hate you but maybe i just hate myself, because i dont think we ever treated eachother as good as we deserved. and maybe im just jealous that you were brave enough to leave first.

[coffeexxcigarettes]

12 to 22

-

I remember the days of bursting through your bedroom door,

Flinging myself across your twin sized bed.

I'd huff dramatically,

Throwing an arm over my eyes,

My hair brushing the carpet,

With my head hanging.

You'd laugh at me,

And the rest of the world fell away.

We'd talk back

And forth

Back

And

Forth

Endlessly,

And somehow the worst situations,

The times where there were no dramatics-

Only shaking shoulders and hands,

Would be forgotten at your doorstep.

Planning our next moves that would fail,

Studying together for hours,

Laughing until we thought we might puke.

When I say I'd like to go home,

How do I reconcile with the fact that

I think I made my home in you?

x

[l0sing-sanityy]

if it had to be torn apart, it wasnt meant to be together in the first place.

[ijustgotheartbrokencanutell]

I try to learn a new impressive hobby.

He knows I’m talented and gifted

I get top scores on all my assignments to get amended in class.

He knows I’m smart

I start going to the gym and eating better.

He knows my body is amazing

I buy new clothes and get a new wardrobe.

He knows I have style

I start posting more of my face and trying new make up.

He knows I’m pretty

I show off all the best parts of me so he wants me again, but he has never forgotten in the first place. He knows that I’m talented, smart, curvy, creative and pretty. He just doesn’t want me.

[poempoetryandmore]

[teenagepillpopper]

I hope it burns knowing u lost everything you could’ve had with me. I’m sick of having you in my head, you don’t deserve it.

[beautifulprincessdisorderhotgrl]

my heart feels so heavy tonight

i wish you could hold it for me

but even you grew weary of it’s weight

[transcendencepheonix]

I hope you feel guilty forever. I hope deep down, even if you never say it out loud, or address what you did to me, you still feel the guilt of what you did. I hope it follows you through your life forever.

The way what you did to me will follow me through mine.

[th1s-us3r-has-pass3d]

[khianafromwork]

i loved you hopelessly like a dog to it's owner, i loved you devotedly like a painter to their muse, i loved you carnally like a customer to a sex worker, i loved you purely like a shepherd to their sheep