Unreciprocated Pain

You cut my soul more times than you ever kissed it.

You broke my spirit more times than you ever lifted it.

You took more good from me than you ever gave back to me.

You stood there and watched me bawl my eyes out more than you ever comforted me.

You used my weaknesses against me, threw my past back in my face.

You watered my insecurities with pleasure, helping them grow stronger, and hushed my voice and my expression so that I could remain in your eyes smaller than you.

And I stayed



Deborah Zukowski

Confessions Of My Broken Heart. Writing is deeply tied to my tendency to overthink rather than simply express thoughts. However, I am not a writer.