I think about writing all the time
I think about it so much that no writing gets done
I want to write about things that hurt me
Or that are hurting me
People that hurt me
Or that are hurting me
Right this very second
Even though in all likelihood
They are not even thinking about me
I have become a footnote
An anecdote
Just some girl they decided to use
Fuck around with
Feed their ego
Every now and then
For years
Throwing words around like love
Feeding me poems
Like Wile E. Coyote dangling carrots for Road Runner
Like Lucy holding the football for Charlie Brown
Watching
As I fall for the trick
Yet again.
I think about writing about this all the time
I think about writing about this hurt
This manic cycle
Of adoration
And abandonment
I think about writing about these men
This man
That I keep letting in again
And again
To hurt me some more
But I don’t.
I don’t want to write hurtful things
About these men that have hurt me;
Instead of nailing the door shut
Instead of turning the page
I leave the door open the slightest crack
I get stuck on the same page
And return the book to the shelf
Unfinished
Leave the story without an ending
Fight the universe
Give in to what is known
Even if toxic and hurtful and
Never quite right
Just to escape
Into familiar flesh
That is not my own.
by Julie Blue 