A poem about seeing an abusive ex-boyfriend and the feelings brought back.
| "Virus" by Andrew Theodore
Memories flood back into my mind every time I catch a glimpse of a stranger with an ounce of a resemblance to you.
The blond hair and blue eyes brings back memories of a boy.
A boy I kissed.
A boy I loved.
How could a mouth speak and make love to the same person it insults?
With each mistake I made, your laughing only got louder,
I tried to come closer, but you only backed away.
Typically, you don't hear the words, "Andrew, you're a fucking dumbass"
from a lover and roommate.
The very sight of you makes me tremble; I try to find something else to look at, but your eyes pierce into my head like a dagger, like you're trying to control me again from afar.
I breathe the words "I'm fine" into the smoky air,
Only to be met with a smirk of disbelief.
If an attractive stranger catches my eye, I can already hear you spewing bullshit about me to them, all while maintaining eye contact with me.
Your eyes tell me, "You won't win their heart."
And that's when I realize: you haven't uttered a word to me since February.
You aren't staring at me.
You aren't telling strangers I'm pathetic.
All you're focused on is maintaining the very God-complex that keeps you standing tall.
But in my mind, you could very well say these words.
These words have the past splattered all over them, like blood on virgin snow.
It's a virus you left in me when I ran away.
Its voice sounds like yours. Which makes it seem like you could say these things.
It makes no sense at all.
I guess that's one of those unwritten symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.
I sit and stitch up my reopened wound from the day I saw you,
And you move along and act like nothing happened, like you always do.