And She tried to fly (poem)

this was a super old poem from last year, until now I did not have a photo it fit.

 

I tried to be who you wanted, I set aside my life, I stopped talking to nearly everyone but you, so I could have been your wife,

I tucked away creativity, it made you jealous and mad, I took a last photo just for you, now I regret that I had,

I stopped writing poetry, for I have no pictures to correlate, it sent me on a dark spiral, but by then it was to late,

I stopped speaking in group chat, because the jealousy was so high, I had noone left to talk to, but those you would question me why,

I battled your demons with you, putting in 100 when you gave me none, I messaged and called or saw you, until that battle was won,

I remember hitting a show, for a nice night out, but the way you dissapeared left me hurt and in doubt,

You had picked the show, I was along just for you, but the owner was an old friend, your anger only grew,

I was trying to limit my prims, you needed so many more than I, then get mad because I did not have enough out, so silently I would decorate and cry,

I listened to hours of words, strung into stories about work and home, I listened as a church mouse, thinking I may meet them in Rome,

I know I was far from perfect, but was I so horrible to hurt me as you did? I must have invested much more in you, than you ever cared to bid,

I was lonely and lost, even before the fall, it only made the loneliness a bit easier to grasp, made me wonder why I cared so much, why my logic allowed my heart to crash,

So as I hold your secrets, yes I hold them so very tight, do me a solid one day, you know you did not do me right,

Do not throw away a heart, as if it was never there. Because you still had a piece of mine, when you ghosted me the day you said you still cared,

Do not do to another, the shit job you did on me, it may be destructive to my soul, while my heart still hurting from the missing piece,

So keep trying to fly sweet angel, all the best will come once more,

Know your actions were pure, the gifts from your heart, and they are woefully poor.

Done