the weight of wait

minutes that pass appear like bruises,

purpling on my pale skin with each tick of the clock.

its hands weapons,

weapons she aims at me.

i tell myself “tomorrow will be better”

her hands will soften,

her voice will quiet,

but will it?

but as tears fall from my eyes,

the rage behind hers begins to fade,

something clicks within her head,

she snaps out of the trance like spell,

she cast upon herself.

”I’m so sorry” ,

”it won’t happen again!” ,

”I promise!” ,

she’d say.

but her promises—

paper like, thin.

tearing at the slightest

and lightest touch.

i gather the scraps,

sticking them together,

the tape, my hope,

and all I need is hope.

but tape peels

and loses its stick.

but somehow—

my heart is still stuck to yours,

no matter how many times you shatter it.

so I press the pieces close to my chest,

hoping for warmth,

praying for safety,

safety from the new you.

the version that isn’t mine.

your anger, poison,

deadly but secret.

only shown to those who look—

but nobody ever looks.

I was forced to,

my eyes glued open.

she’d make sure I’d see,

but knew I wouldn’t say anything.

I still swallow it,

because love tastes like sacrifice.

my way out,

leaving feels worse than staying.

every second that stretches,

an elastic band around my throat,

but I don’t try to escape, no.

i wait, i wait for the impossible.



deep down knowing it will never happen,

but praying it does,

because there’s too much weight—

when it comes to waiting for you.