Poetry I Tried!

The wound was never

That you misunderstood me.

It was that

You understood me completely

and chose otherwise.

The silence was never

That you didn't hear me.

It was that

You heard every unspoken word

and let it fall.

The loneliness was never

that no one came.

It was that

You knew the hour I needed you most

and stayed away.

The humiliation was never

the joke.

It was knowing

You saw the bruise beneath the laughter

and called it humour anyway.

There is exhaustion in loving with both hands open,

in building bridges with splintered fingers,

while somewhere beyond your sight

The verdict had already been written.

The loss was never

losing you.

It was realizing

You had already left

long before my hands noticed

the emptiness.

There is a heartbreak in giving away entire seasons of yourself

your patience, your faith, your unspoken prayers

only to learn that in their ledger of importance,

Your name was never written in ink.

Perhaps some heartbreaks

do not come from being unknown.

They come from being known

completely, deeply, painfully known

and still

not being chosen.