L.A.J., Part 2

Love -
the conventional, romantic kind
will not conquer all
but love -
rooted from within the self
the weeds that won’t die
the unglamorous, weeping-on-the-bahroom floor kind
is the ONLY kind
that saves lives.

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

For the first time
the weakness wasn’t mine
For the last time
I’ll set off believing the weight
will always be mine

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

My ability to step outside of my body
when I’m bleeding and broken on the floor
is something I developed after falling
on my face and choking on my shame
when all I ever needed was a hug
that lasted at least 17 seconds
and the reassurance that the world wasn’t going to end
I received neither
so I’m not only able to self-soothe
I can pick myself up
when I can’t even recognize my own carnage
and say softly all the words
my mother was never given

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

Your darkness
takes the man I love and reduces him
to the shell of another man’s mistakes
and that enrages me
because I don’t deserve the best of you
YOU
my darling
deserve the best of you.

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

Yes my love
your children would have been beautiful
but anyone who puts a child in me
has secured that category
They never would have believed their own beauty
until we believed ourselves to be
~ and that’s why neither of us are parents

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

I will heal
and you will feel
all of the pain you put me through
reverberating
I hope it makes you kill that part of you
and bring the man I love
back to life

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

The bravest act, my dear, is to love
I proved me wrong
You proved you wrong
We both fought a brave fight against our demons, my love
And you might not have won this battle
but please get up and fight many more
You will always be brave for doing so
and you will always be strong
for showing up each time.

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

This place is too new for your smell to linger
in the cracks between the floorboards
And there is too much cedar around me
to make the air smell like our sex
or your cigarettes
Every space is rented
and we live on borrowed time
so I send my kisses t the sky and hope they
one day land on your lips again
My heart swells at every memory of me
and the best of you
and you brought out the best of me, too
So don’t you every question if you were worth it, darling
If I knew the island would give me love
I would’ve been born right next to you

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

Healing is messy
and seemingly never complete
I might still cry myself to sleep tonight
in spite of all these pages
making it seem like I can make beauty
of a God-awful, ugly thing

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

I am the furthest thing in the world from fearless
This world I live in just makes it easy
for me to fake it

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

 

Not every story has to be told
but if the story is yours
Don’t let anyone else tell it for you

© Mary dela Torre, 2016

poetryMary