Nunca Te Calles

My ex (?) followed me again the other day. This is the part where I admit, he couldn’t have done that if I hadn’t unblocked him first.

I’d been seeing him on and off since 2023, but had told him at the beginning of this year- after an emotional conversation- that I would be blocking him. We had admittedly always found our way back. The pattern was always the same. I’d tell him I wanted something more, he’d tell me he wasn’t ready but wanted more of me, I’d leave and with enough sweet words and mezcal on our tongues our bodies consumed each other. And it’s with this same passion, same selfishness, this same passionate sex, that my mirror and I created something only the universe understands the meaning for.

He is blocked again.

Here I am
Completely soaked in shame
So many times while knowing you I’ve lied in this same puddle. A soaking wet and cold puddle I’ve mapped well.

I could drown having known every drop that killed me like the back of my hand.

I look into the eyes that have consumed me many times over these years, study the lips that trek the arch of my feet like a skilled navigator.
“Our baby would be so beautiful. You would look so cute pregnant.”
“You’re wilding.” I say, knowing intimately like a movie I’ve seen a million times, you’ll be ready one day, and it won’t be with me.

I buried the shame of knowing I deserve more. I buried it so deep that it fertilized the seed and manifested into growing life.
My body intrinsically aching for what I biologically needed from you, I never did read that popular book on open relationships.
I have lived the life of being taken advantage of by thoughtless men.

Thoughtlessness that creates life twice knowing both times how my body paid the price, death caressing my stomach with solace.

You’re lying in my bed, rubbing my back, holding my vomit bag. I carry what was an attempt at life, in my stomach. There’s no heart beat anymore, I feared if told you about it, I’d be less deserving of this tenderness

We fall asleep, your hands around my stomach, what sweet slow suffering

your alarm cuts the silence in the night and I’m sick all over again