Hello A Writers Soul
When I read this poem – your words this afternoon at lunch it affected me deeply
Not only was I able to feel your pain and the anger in your words.
They were literally like a knife being driven into my heart.
Since reading this poem I’ve had trouble keeping myself from crying.
In the past I’d have left a comment telling you just how bad and awful women really are.
Today I’m not the same man I used to be and what really broke my heart – is even now still breaking my heart is that I know your are better than this.
I’m the author of the blog Flowers and Weeds that’s where I saw you for the first time when you began reading and liking my poems.
When I first saw your gravatar – the one of you sitting in your car.
Fiery red hair and your face lit up with a smile.
You were the very picture of an angel whose inner beauty glowed so brightly i fell in love with you.
My heart would always light up whenever you liked my poems.
Not once did I ever want or desire to sleep with you.
I was simply in love with your inner beauty reflected in your smile and words.
I came to admire you when I read your Tumblr Blog – i wish my stepmother’s had a heart as loving and kind as yours.
So I’m going to tell you what real pain is:
Watching my dad die from an STD infection given to him by one of my stepmother’s.
Being in a restaurant when my mother called and after asking me to step outside saying, “Your brother is dead and that b—- killed him.
Turned out a woman who worked with his wife had called and told him that his wife was having an affair with another one of her co-workers.
That call pushed him over the edge and he took an overdose that night.
Turned out it was all a lie.
The day she called my brother was
Having to drive from Bremen Georgia to stone mountain than ride to Nashville Tennessee with my mother.
To pick up my brother whose wife had abandoned him when he became so sick he needed oxygen 24/7.
Living in a bad marriage to avoid losing my son.
Watching my son get married hoping that his wife doesn’t turn out to be like my stepmother’s.
Having two coworkers bully me as they did their best to drive me out of the department I’d worked in for nearly twenty years.
Being so afraid of making a mistake that i ended up making mistakes that made me feel incompetent.
Driving to work wondering if I was going to lose my job for months on end.
Crying on the way home in the evening wanting the pain to end – seriously considering taking the entire bottle of sleeping pills hidden in my underwear drawer.
Being forced to take a medication that made me dizzy to the point where I was unable to write.
Since then I’ve been able to piece my life together but I needed one more piece.
I couldn’t put it into words but I knew in my heart I’d know it when I saw it.
I found that piece just a few weeks ago.
I used to be filled with anger and hate and let it all hang out in my poems and short stories.
Back it December I read a comment on one of my posts describing the hell my life had been.
This person told me that she read that post over and over again and couldn’t stop crying.
How sorry she was that i’d been put through all of that.
This person has no feelings (romantic) for me and that’s ok.
She has been hurt herself yet she could feel my pain and did something no one has done for me before.
She gave me the greatest love of all by reaching out and simply touching my heart.
The missing piece so i desperately needed was empathy.
She has completely changed my life for it was her touch that shattered my heart then made it whole again.
She restored to me the ability to love and is the reason I write better now than I ever have before.
I will never stop loving her even though she cannot return those feelings for me.
Now if You still don’t believe I can understand your pain and anger go read this story:
You have read it before – indeed you liked it.
Not only am i the author of Flowers and Weeds I have also published blogs under all of these user names:
(that’s right I wrote every single poem and short story on both of her blogs)
Now I have only one thing to ask of you please stop breaking my heart.
I know that you are better than this!
Boys are cute when they think they have earned more than the reward gives,
All sweet talk until the word no comes into play,
And when his begging and moaning don’t give him what he desires,
He turned to insults and pettiness, as though that makes him a man,
So he thinks he can play his games for a little bit longer?
Well dear, let me explain a few things to you,
“You are not entitled to my body, the sounds I make nor the pictures I take,”
So he rants and complains like a wounded ego only could,
And you watch, as this pathetic creature becomes a mere blimp in your radar,
Because while you don’t care what this stranger has to offer,
He will write paragraphs of the wrongs you’ve done him,
(Even when you hardly know him; this little boy who can’t handle a bruise ego,
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