Mistakes Poem by Belle Violet

Oh, the mistakes
that I've made.
Why didn't I have the brass
to get past
this feeling
that he's frightening,
and being so
afraid?
Why didn't I love him better
and show him
how much
he mattered?
He may look like
he's carved
out of stone;
chiseled and toned,
steel-boned,
but,
get him alone,
and he's molten lava.
Melted and bubbling,
oozing and running.
Red hot,
never cold.
He's not as scary
as he seems,
he's not pressure and steam.
Why did I ever
tell myself
that was the easiest
thing
to believe?
Remember, he's like you.
Remember, he's quiet.
Remember, he's always
talking
with his eyes.
Trying to free me
of my hostility.
From my stupidity.
Why did I ever
stop seeing?
There are a thousand moments
I want back
to make up to him.
A thousand kisses
and ‘thank you's
I owe him.
A thousand times
I could have given him
my time,
and I was too afraid of
what was
maybe
on his mind.
scared he would undo me
with rejection.
That he'd turn the light off
and leave me
feeling wretched.
A king size bed
is too much space
to navigate.
Too far
from his heartbeat.
And what if
he overheats?
What if
he's stuffy?
What if he's lonely
for my
once
bold company?
It kills me he'd think
I'd ever dream about leaving.
Cheating.
Letting us keep
deteriorating.
One awkward conversation
would have saved
the situation.
The distance between us
was just
miscommunication.
I needed
one moment to remind him
he's it.
Worth his weight
in gold and platinum,
f*ck often,
he should have heard that
everyday.
So why couldn't I just say;
Baby, you're magic.
You're the moon and the stars.
You're every single piece
and fragment of my heart.
You're the reason I breathe.
You're the forefront
of my dreams.
You've brought me
down to
my knees
with how
you love me.
Nobody ever had that
kind of power
over me.
You're a lighthouse
to my dark harbor,
The spark
that kindles
my fire.
The sun to my clouds,
the ether
all around,
You're the voice I'd follow
to the depths and the hollows
of
even Hell.
You're the northern lights
of my life,
the surreal colors of my sky.
And, its unfair to ask him to try
when he feels like he did.
And he felt rejected
for the effort
he put in.
It's like we spoke two languages of love;
him feeling like he was giving enough,
me, feeling snubbed.
Me feeling like I gave it all.
him. feeling disposable.
We talked better in action.
We showed love through affection.
We're both terrified
of feeling
neglected.
And so I read him as cold,
he reads me as distant.
Why the f*ck did we avoid
talking
and listening?
Oh, the mistakes
I have made.
Oh, baby,
you did
the same.