A Poem On Leaving A Person, But Carrying The Same Habits

Being with someone who demonstrates repeatedly that they’re not the right person for you ultimately becomes draining. They constantly show you how heartless they are, but you decide to stick around, hoping things will change someday. As more time passes, you start to develop a feeling of resentment toward them. You realize how they’ve been treating you and want them to feel the same. No, two wrongs don’t make it right. In the moment, it feels justified to give that person a taste of their own medicine. 

Treating others the way they’ve been treating you can change you. You might stop being the soft, loving person and become cold-hearted and mean. Giving someone who belittles you many chances creates a cycle and a habit in your mind. Even after leaving them, you might still carry their disrespectful habits and sabotage new relationships. 

I’ve witnessed many people, including myself, go through this cycle repeatedly. So, below is a poem that captures a similar experience. 

Once I left, I thought that would mean the end of seeing and feeling that person’s presence. It was hard enough having to leave you, but I know it’s what’s best.

I never imagined I would have to carry you within myself for years to follow.

I no longer have patience.

I no longer express my love to anyone new.

I no longer hold my tongue and have a soft tone in my voice; I am angry.

I no longer feel as if my body has a home for love.

I no longer feel safe in a room of intoxicated people.

 Thank you for that.

I am carrying around a heavy heart. 

As I walk into the bathroom after an argument, caused by me, which involved yelling and throwing whatever objects I could reach, heavy or not. After all, there’s someone new, and I am learning how to let them in. I want to, but you, YOU won’t allow that.

I retreat to the bathroom to catch a break, with my fists clenched and swelling with guilt. Then, the reflection in the mirror across the wall stares back at me as I wash my hands, noticing the faint pink hue left by the objects I chose to hurl. A frown creeps onto my face, and a wave of disappointment washes over me, making my cheeks flush crimson and my eyes start to water. I look up, locking eyes with my reflection. Why is there an image of me in the mirror, but all I can see is you?

Featured image via Atlantic Ambience on Pexels