Fluid, Run-on, and Internal Thoughts

This poem is very narrative in style, however it contains many different conventions of genre. It's completely unedited and was written in 17 minutes.

Was I wrong? Why didn’t I anticipate this from the beginning?

It was surreal…because it was so real.

Beautiful skin. Blue eyes. Soft, gentle voice.

Soccer. Trombone. Divorced parents. Green as a favorite color. Little sister. Top of his class.

Divorced parents, dyslexia, chronic migraines, molested…an unfaithful ex-boyfriend.

Who am I to say that I was a good guy? Because I embraced these things about her, good or bad. I loved him for his flaws. Isn’t that a good thing?

I miss him. His voice. I miss being his dork. He being my nerd. Nerds and dorks are the perfect pairs.

Repercussions �" lost, depressed, confused. Denial. Too inquisitive. Should I be afraid of the answers I do not want to hear?

I knew what I had. I truly believe I did. It’s quite simply that I just didn’t expect to lose it.

I could be considered a fool…maybe even his doormat until his ex-lover pleaded for him back. Did distance play the only role? How could love be that weak?

I couldn’t explain to him in words how I felt about him. Did he not feel the same? I blame myself. It could have been something I said! Was I not as sexual as he wanted me to be?

Constant, recurring flashbacks. I taught you how to meditate when you were stressed. You taught me how to calm down when I was worried.

His laugh. My laugh. Our laughs. Our cries. Our stories. Oh how compatible we were. How could anything ruin that?

Insecurity kicks in. Did I not look as good as his ex? Does he not feel as much pain as I do?

I guess I learned a lot about myself. I’ve never seen this side of me before �" one that runs on anger, frustration, nostalgia, and despair. I’m numb and nothing hurts. Lay it on me.

And I was just about to touch it. The Great Gatsby I said to myself. Nothing ends well for the nice guy. The sweet boy. The sensitive boyfriend.

Why do humans have emotions? Perhaps so they can help us survive, or more because they can be manipulated? All pleasures have coincidences I said to myself.

Trust. Love. Envy. They are abstract things. What makes them exist?

Too many questions and not enough answers, but I don’t even want to know them all. Who shall live and who shall die? Who shall perish by water and who by fire? I ask myself.

Sometimes I wish it was a dream. That nothing ever happened. But I get hit by the cold hard truth, and every blow is more painful than the last.

And so I try to press on, boat against the current. But the haunting cycle makes sure that I frequently digress to where I started.

I am told to always trust my instinct. Follow my gut. My heart. And all those things told me that an end of what I shared with him was not correct. An end was not supposed to happen.

I am stuck in a paradox, and I do not know whether I should pray for the ability to control it or not.

I would have never given you up for someone else. Why didn’t you let me remove the distance? I was always there for you. Simple things like staying up until 4am when you went to the E.R. or helping you do your history homework. Look through my eyes!

So many broken promises.

Nothing of yours no longer belongs to me.

Somebody else is touching you, and it drives me insane. Agonizing pain.

When we talk I just feel like I am losing you again, yet you are still the most important thing on my brain.

 

Author's Note

- Completely unedited in order to convey closest personal feeling at time of writing
- Written in 17 minutes, hence not sure how the grammar is impacted
- 100% true story
- Naturally narrative, no specific path chosen at time of writing