You Called Me Your Soul

but tried to keep mine caged

You called me your soul—

like it was a gift,

like I should be grateful

to be owned, not uplifted.

You spoke in poetry to tighten your hold.

Fed me sweet lines,

then turned them cold—

with silence, with blame,

with bruises I buried

and carried like shame.

You always came back.

But never to stay—

just to calm the storm

you sent my way.

And I, so desperate for connection,

mistook your return for redemption.

But peace isn’t found in a kiss after pain.

Love doesn’t circle

just to wound again.

You didn’t return for me—

you came back for your reign.

You crossed my boundaries

like they were yours to bend.

Twisted “no” into “maybe,”

then silence again.

You wanted access, not affection—

possession, not protection.

And I—I let you.

Because I thought pain meant depth.

Because I believed that if I gave more,

bent more,

bled more—

you’d finally stay with both hands open,

not keeping score.

But now I see.

You didn’t love me.

You held me.

You caged me.

You told me I was your soul,

but tried to reshape me.

What you wanted

was a mirror to mold—

a reflection that stayed

as your grip took hold.

I’m done gathering the pieces you broke.

Done breathing through the words you never spoke.

If you come back again,

you won’t find the girl who waited.

No door left ajar,

no hope reinstated.

I’ve gathered what you scattered,

and from the wreckage, made something whole.

A quiet life. A softer soul—

but not one you’ll ever know.

I’m still gentle—

but only for those who see me,

not for those who leave me bleeding.

I’ve learned:

Love doesn’t move in endless loops.

And pain isn’t proof.

Just because I stayed

doesn’t mean you were right.

Doesn’t mean you were worthy of the fight.

Doesn’t mean I belonged in your hands.

I stayed because I hoped—

because I saw light in your shadow.

Because I didn’t yet know

that leaving is also love,

and sometimes, the bravest kind.

But not anymore.

I don’t confuse endurance with devotion.

I don’t name survival “love” in motion.

And I will never again shrink to fit

inside a version of love

where I must quit being me.

So no—

you don’t get to call it love

just because I stayed.

I stayed because I loved you deeply.

But now,

I’m learning to love myself

in ways you never could.