I was five the first time I saw
someone fall out of love.
I watched as my dad walked
out on my mother and I watched
as the pain of heartache ate away
until there wasn’t anything left.
I was six the first time I saw
how fast people can move on.
I met my stepmother and though
she was incredibly lovely,
I didn’t see much love in her
eyes when she looked at him.
I watched my mother’s retreating
back and I realized that not even
love was strong enough to
make someone stay.
I was eight when I learned that
love was nothing more than a trap.
I looked into my baby sister’s eyes
and I knew that it would go to hell.
I was sixteen when I realized just
how bad a forced love was.
I heard the screams in the dead
of the night and the wishes
that they had never met.
I was eighteen when I learned that
you could have your cake and
eat it too as long as no one found out.
I watched as my dad walked out
again, but this time, his spirit left
while his body stayed behind.
I am twenty-one and now I know
that a life of not being taught how
to properly fall in love had disabled
me to feel like I deserve it.
I saw how love destroyed three
people and now I fear that
it may destroy me too.