He that lives in a glass house must not throw stones.

I had a house.
And in that house there were things.
Things with memories encrypted onto them.
There were chairs we sat and laughed in.
Photographs, I adored you.
Books we never read.
Walls with words unsaid.
The front door always remained locked,
I never wanted to leave.
The shelves held all the lies you spilled
Around our wooden floors that always
Creaked when you came around
Sound proofed our bedroom so you did not hear
Me scream when I found her scent underneath
Your pillow.
The hearts on the window from the fogged mornings.
Mornings I could not sleep from the nights you
Pretended to love me.
Stained red lipstick smeared across buttoned shirts;
I always ignored.
Everytime you would return to me with a little less than you left with.
The warnings were deafening but I covered my ears
With your hands and begged you to make
The sirens stop, and you would kiss my cheek
And just as innocently I would sweep away
Her footprints in the doorway.
The wine bottles spilled everytime you left;
Drinking to the nights alone, in our bed.
This house became a knife and I always bled when you fled,
Cutting deeper, the nights longer, the mornings colder,
Wrapping myself in your bedsheets; wondering how it was you could hold her,
When you had me. Sadly, our happy home became a
Vacant hole and I walked the halls and of what was.
The chairs were broken, the pictures on the walls
Were crooked and the windows shattered.
This is what our love had become.
Broken.

I sold that house; to a woman who didn't mind the mess.
She said nothing could compare to the tangles in her chest.
When she stepped into the doorway, I could almost hear her sadness
Burst inside of her.
Her scent was familiar.
Her red lipstick blared.
She pushed my hand away when I went to give her the key.
Opened her purse and pulled out her own.
I smiled and left that house.

And I built myself a home.

Pretty Girls Are Always Insecure.

I used to make myself feel pretty.
Now I'm depending on someone else to
Validate my beauty.
Comparing myself to the last and the next,
Insecure in my own sex, feeling worthless
To the bone, a stranger in my own home,
Immune to the flaws that continue to grow,
Its cold when you're alone,
Wishing to be someone else, someone that already was
Somone I will never be,
And I know that she creeps into your mind when you look at me
I can feel it when you're kissing me
You're lips longing for another, causing my heart to think irrationally
Settling for what I think I deserve,
And even though it hurts, I work twice as hard to keep what was hers
The scars never show from the inside but they burn and I've heard it a million times
"You have to know your own worth",
but fuck its hard
when there's always someone else there stealing your words,
Concealing the urge to cry in front of you.
The tears have left permanent trails,they know their way down my cheeks,
and I am missing too many pieces to even begin to feel complete,
but I do know this feeling of insecurity; it is nothing unusual,
but still sometimes I just miss feeling,
Beautiful.

*Back to meloncholy. Lovely.

Love On The Horizon.

I saw a beautiful shape in the distance and
Convinced myself it was you.
Told myself it could be no one and nothing else,
So I ran.
Letting the pavement sing beneath my impatient feet,
The trees became a blur a green, another sign
Of your presense.
I uttered your name under my slowed breath hoping
You would turn and beam your brilliance
Into the morning horizon.
But when I got to where you were supposed to be,
Utter lonliness washed over me
And I was not surprised.
You never came, as I did not expect you to,
But expectations and hope often cross eachother,
Causing misunderstanding and heartache.
I listened to the wind blow through my damp eyelashes,
Inhaled the sweet scent of cactuses. embraced the morning
Dew with my eyes closed.
The trail had ended, and I walked away alone,
Leaving the beautiful horizon and your memory behind,
Knowing that sadness and desperation were waiting for me at home.

Love,
tianamonique.