Lying down there,
releasing all the sorrow
from my lungs,
Mother Aya pulled out
the deepest sighs
from my whole being.
“Enough”.
“Breathe”.
“Release it”.
Water coming out of my eyes,
and gallons of air
I didn’t know I had.

He is nothing.
Nothing.
Less than small.
He, and what he chooses,
are on the same low frequency.
He lied to suck the light out of me,
for then spit it out carelessly.
It was never in his plans to raise.
Yes, it was true love.
But he could not meet me.
He denies it wasn’t true
to avoid facing himself,

and to apease those he chooses,
but we both know it was.
And that’s what kept me hoping
and believing that he’d step up.
But the more I hoped, gave,
and overlooked his betrayals and lies,
the more he denied,
the more he forgot,
the less he saw me,
to the point that he convinced himself there was nothing.


I am the one who gave value to him
through my love.

My love is the gold.
I am the jewel,
the diamond,
the princess,
the one whose light he seeks
yet cannot match,
so he dims it,
seeks to destroy it.
But he can’t.
Because he’s nothing.
He means nothing.

My biggest lesson
of self-love.
The contrast
of who he chooses to be in the moment
and the eternal rock that I am.

He is what he is.
And I am what I am.