I write poetry. Poetry is a way for me to process, to cope, to understand everything that comes at me in life. All my lovers have a poem written for them. Love is as much of life as everything else, sometimes more.
I wrote Hipnos several poems like the one shown in the image above. It was my cheesy way of expressing love, still is. I did this for a good bit of our relationship, and over time Hipnos stopped reading. I slowly got used to the lack of support on something that is so huge in my life. As the posts move on, I'll share how the poems change. The one written above, was written right as he moved in with me.
I picked him up at a McDonald's in Alabama. His mom had brought him as he didn't have a car. I wasn't allowed to pick him up at his house, though I wasn't sure why. We had lunch at McDonalds, his mom seemed nice, and she had been throughout the duration of our relationship. I drove 10 hours to pick him up, and drove 10 hours to get home. Our home. A home that would slowly turn into maddening pandemonium.
I remember he blew me on the road. My first time getting road head. When he settled in, he looked around my home, the dogs barking, the floors unfinished. My family welcomed him in. My mom was still living with us at the time. He looked around and said "it's poor but it's home."
I didn't know what to think about that at the time. It started off a ton of anxieties about the state of my home. It wasn't much. Still isn't much, but it's all I have. My home is unfinished. No A/C, everything is rigged, messy, and we get roaches from time to time. But it's home.
It's not a place I bring a lot of people to. It's not a place I want people to see anymore. When my current boyfriend came to Houston, I gave him a fuckton of warnings. Completely worried about what he'd think on how I lived. And that started because of one statement from Hipnos.
I shrugged it off. He unpacked and immediately started gaming. I had a copy of Super Smash Brothers and he played that for hours. I think we went to bed together, something that would become rare for us. At first, i was the one who wanted to stay up late, he early. We had a lot of talks about it. It slowly progressed to syncing bed times.
It took forever for him to start applying for jobs. I pushed him every so often, gave him websites like Indeed and Snagajob. Yet he never got anything. He didn't have a phone at the time so we used mine, but he never got a call back for the jobs he did apply for.
There was one argument we got into. I got tired of taking care of things. I had just gotten a new car because my dad was taking my current one away through the divorce. I needed something, so I locked myself into a long, high priced bill. I was working two jobs at the time, barely making anything, and I was going to school full time. He sat at home, gaming. He screamed about how he wanted to work. He needed to work to feel good about himself. He then blamed my home, our home, for his inability to do anything. All his motivation gone just by the walls of his new home. We never resolved it.
I hate not resolving arguments. Sometimes you can't do it that day, but I've always believed you don't go to sleep pissed off. I went to bed livid that night.
Most nights, when I got home, I was the one who had to cook for him. he had the worst diet. I call it the kid food diet. chicken nuggets, Kraft mac and cheese, waffles, Campbell's chicken soup, and McDonald's. We ate a lot of McDonald's. At the end of the day I had to make all this stuff for him cause he wouldn't do it himself. I tried making the items more microwave friendly so he could do it, but there'd be days I'd get home and ask if he had eaten and I'd hear "I forgot to eat." or "yea, cereal this morning." His gaming addiction really took off.
This became my norm for several years of my life. Several years. I became complacent to it. All my resentment went away, and I juts left it at "this is how it is now. This is my life."
Sex became nonexistant between us. I would ask him, a lot. Maybe too much at times, and he got so annoyed with it. Said he wasn't my "personal slut." That he shouldn't have to have sex with me for ust to be happy. And I get it, I'm not entitled to sex. That's understandable. But I do see sex as an important part of a relationship, and if we were no longer sexually compatible, we needed to talk.
He said he was tired of sex. That he could live without it. All you need is to jack off and you're fine.
When we did have sex, I had to wear gloves. It was a kink of his, but sometimes I would have liked to have touched him without the gloves. That rarely, if ever, happened. Most of the time, he looked bored.
He never wanted anal, as I indicated in my past posts. He said I was too big. Too thick. His ass could not handle it. When he blew me, it would only be for like thirty seconds, then he'd make me finish myself off my jacking off.
He said I complained too much about not having sex. That it made him feel terrible, as if he were a terrible partner. I was a child, whining about the lack of intimacy in our relationship. I learned to quiet down after time. I came to be afraid of asking my partner for sex or bringing up the lack of sex, thinking I was bringing in some toxicity in our relationship. And I didn't want to be toxic.
I had gotten used to taking care of things, becoming co-dependent. It slowly felt nice to be needed, even though it was taking an exhaustive toll on me and my mental state. I slowly fell into deep depressive episodes. Small things like paying bills late, not being able to go out and eat, not being able to clean all the time, set me off easily. I felt pathetic. He felt pathetic that he didn't help, still blaming the house for not being able to get motivated to do anything. He said, "everything here is ugly. Why bother doing anything?"
So I worked harder. Slept less. Still. It felt like it didn't matter.
In 2014, I got my car repossessed. I was three months behind. It was a Sunday morning. They came at 7am. I remember hearing the tires screech as they dragged the car off the driveway. I didn't know what to do; how to respond. I just knew shit hit the fan.
I remember he was so pissed. So pissed. He told me, if i had ever lost anything major like my car again that he would leave me. That I should have been better at paying our bills. How dare I let this happen.
I wanted to tell him that if he just helped, things would be easier. But I knew the answer. How could I ask that of him when he has been trying to do better?
I let that rule my life for several years.
I wrote poetry for Hipnos. Over time he stopped reading. Or maybe he didn't read at all. I've stopped wondering about it.
I turned to poetry to cope. What else did I have? Below is what the poetry slowly turned into.
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