Pieces of Her...Letters From A Broken Heart.

 

Pieces of Her: Letters from a Broken Heart

I'm Sorry...

I'm so truly, truly sorry.

I never meant to break so hard—
so much that my insides feel burnt to char.

I just can't seem to feel better sometimes,
and it feels like a life sentence of sadness
is written between my lines.

I hide from you every day
because you make me feel so small
when my feelings finally show.
You say I’m too sensitive,
and I feel too embarrassed for you to ever know.

Admittedly, it hurts more than I can truly say—
it leaves me empty,
just desperately trying to stay out of the way.

You don't seem to realize
how intently I listened every time
you told me about your day.
Even when my own heart was aching,
I just wanted you to feel heard,
seen, validated in every way.

Because I remember all too well
what it felt like
when I had things to say.

But when I spoke,
you turned to check your phone,
walked the other way.
“Keep talking... I’m still listening,” you said,
but my heart had already dropped,
and thoughts began to swirl in my head.

My soul left my body
as I realized how little my words mattered.
No full eye contact,
no felt listening,
no empathetic expression—
just a vacancy where presence should have been.

I felt more alone speaking to you
than I did in my own silence.
It would have hurt less
to keep it all unsaid.

When I stop talking and you ask me why,
I naively think it’s a safe space,
and I proceed to try.
Next thing I know,
you’re sighing,
telling me I’m being too sensitive—again.

You twist my words.
You walk out the door.
And I’m left crying,
asking myself why.

Beating myself up
for sending you away,
for being too much,
just because I tried to explain.

I shrink even smaller
because I feel ashamed—
as if I caused your pain.

I've learned to hide my feelings,
fearing I’m too outspoken.
That maybe you’re right:
I’m just too broken.

So I write my feelings in letters,
and hide behind smiles you need—
just to make sure you’re happy,
and to make my feelings seem silly,
easy to dismiss,
not something to heed.

I'll paint the flowers pretty,
and aim my sadness at the sun.
And I’ll keep trying another day
not to be the only one...

Broken.
In mourning.
My soul continues on
in silence—
so as not to upset you,
so as not to disturb your lovely dawn.