Who Are You Without Him?

 

 

The first time I had to ask myself this question.

I was heartbroken.

I looked at myself, in the mirror of heart,

Took a deep breath,

stilled the universe around me and silenced

the roar of the tides in my heart

and asked my elders permission to speak.

My mind was the first to allow this

Sweet girl,

Who are you without him?

The funny thing is I did not even know who ‘he’ was.

Which love was worthy enough to bring about this burning question?

And my God,

wasn’t that the first answer?

My heart was never mine to call my own.
I offered her to men,

as a sacrifice instead of a gift.

She became the pass around at parties,

a joke I was always willing to share

and they had no problems laughing.

I gave my heart away to the highest bidder.

In all honesty,

anywhere was safer than me.

So I ask myself,

who am I without him?

I am strong.

Because I’ve had to be…because taught me.

Because my heart was his target practice and he taught me how best to cover my wounds.

Till this day it scares me how I’ve become a master at telling myself the scars he left me don’t exist.

I almost believe myself.

Almost.

I am nurturing,

because I’ve had to be,

because he taught me

I’ve become the greatest heart paramedic

but I’ve never learnt how to save my own.

I wrote down his heart’s desires on my To Do List,

scribbled his cries into poetry so you’d know even when your heart breaks your pieces are still my favorite work of art.

Call it a masterpiece.

I’ve memorized your heartbreak as the motivation to my

“How to repair something that has been broken.” tutorial

Yet every time I think of tending to the stitches you left,

I always seem to forget.

I learnt the sound of your footsteps.

It becomes really easy to memorize the sound of you walking away,

when you’ve left so many times.

So I ask myself,

Who am I without you?

What is my poetry without you?

They say sad poems are the best,

I guess I have to thank you for making mine so amazing.

Truly my writing has always belonged to you.

Mama always taught me to label everything so everyone knows who it belongs to.

Funny how I have always been convinced if I died,

and they did an autopsy on my heart,

they would not believe it was mine with your fingerprints all over it.

Darling,

who am I without you?

When  you made me,

for you

and left me?

Who are without him,

when all has been said and done,

and its just you

and your sweet sweet heart,

and the stars mourning his absence,

and the universe is silent,

and your heart is fighting its own tsunami,

and even the elders no longer wish to speak.

My love,

who are we, without these men

we’ve taught ourselves to love,

before loving ourselves?