Our story began like a sea-swept fairytale:
magical and adventuresome,
but our love letter in a bottle never made it to shore.
The next chapter in our storybook was filled with
pages of broken hearts and broken promises.
We never reached happily ever after and
I’m not quite sure why I ever thought we would.
After all, I was no princess in your book.
But here’s the ultimate plot twist:
Our happy ending was us ending.

Before we set sail, my friends warned me that
you and I were never meant to be a love song,
but damn,
you were all I wanted to sing.

You once told me I was as beautiful as the Caribbean sea,
but you were a fish that could only swim in fresh water.
Sometimes I felt like
I was too polluted for you.

It felt like I was drowning and you kept pouring
more and more water
into my cement pool.
I let you hold my head under the surface until
months later I finally found the strength to breathe.

You felt your life sinking,
a ship without life boats to help you escape
from the ghosts that haunt you of your freedom days.
You always wanted to be the captain
so you could steer away from the truth.
But instead I took the wheel and proclaimed,
‘man overboard’
before you got the chance to swim to shore.
You survived, but you didn’t know
how to save yourself
because you couldn’t tread in deep water
You sure as hell knew how to tread on me.

I apologized until my lips bled,
but we didn’t even share
the same blood type.
And I’m so sorry
everything I write about you is sad.
I once attempted to write you love letters,
but they all ended up sounding like suicide notes.

I can’t apologize for wanting to stop my world
from shaking like an earthquake
that ranked six on the Richter scale.
Tsunami break downs are far more livable than
your desert island of pretty lies.
So I don’t write these poems for you.
My poetry is beautiful.
The things I did to please you were ugly.

The only thing that helped me survive our ship wreck was words,
the very same thing that once drowned me when
spoken
by
you.