i do not hold on.

i let you go.

i don’t even let myself

get to the point of loving you.

i stop it before it starts,

and i spend the rest of my life

wondering what would have happened

if i had held your hand back

instead of recovering from what happened

because i did.

2. you tell me you love me

and i run.

i do not let the words fall

from my mouth.

i take a second to think realistically.

i consider the chances we actually have.

i say i am sorry, but i can’t.

we can’t do this. there isn’t any point.

i don’t get blinded. i don’t say we should try.

i break your heart in half, right there.

i spend a lifetime regretting it.

i blame myself for being afraid.

i don’t know that i should be thanking

myself for it.

3. you lie to me.

i respect myself enough

to know i don’t deserve it.

i refuse to make excuses for you.

i refuse to let you do it again.

the next time you do, i leave.

i do what i should’ve done,

but didn’t have the strength to.

i save myself the second the ship

starts to go down and abandon you.

but i was always so scared of hurting you,

i let myself get hurt instead.

because shouldn’t the captain always go down, too?

4. when he gives me a chance

at something good and clean,

i take it.

i don’t let you rope me back in

with promises to be better.

i consider everything

we’ve already been through.

i love myself enough to

not go through any more.

i will rethink the decision

to walk away a thousand times.

it will never seem exactly right.

we weren’t doomed, yet.

i will feel bad for leaving when

i didn’t think i really had to

(even though i had to).

5. when i find out you kissed her,

i let my own heart break

and then shatter yours too.

i leave. i leave. i leave.

i tell myself this is the reason

i have been looking for.

something big enough to explain

my unhappiness.

i block your number.

i don’t let us be friends,

i don’t let you still tell me

you love me even when

i start dating somebody else.

i don’t let that get into my head.

i don’t let us not be finished.

i close the door.

i don’t let myself write poems like this.

this is a poem in which i write our story out, again.

i trace the road we traveled and try to pinpoint where

we took the wrong turn, a left instead of a right.

but we started going the wrong way the second i grabbed

your hand back.

we never took a step in the right direction.

you pulled us down a road that i never would’ve said yes to

had i read the street sign,

one that was all you taking and all me giving.