Johneta Ohler Poet Spoken Word

The Type

I'm the type of person that makes you say,
"Damn, almost got it right this time."
Not the one.
A silhouette mistaken for a miracle in the dark.
The kind people keep around
like a backup plan,
like a spare key hidden,
useful,
until they find what they're really looking for.
I'm the type that says,
"I love you,"
and hears,
"I love you too,"
spoken with all the conviction
of someone reading from a script.
Never,
"You're the one."
Never,
"I've stopped looking."
I've realized what I am.
I'm what people reach for
when their dreams reject them.
The soft place they land
after life has the audacity
to tell them no.
Not the prize.
Not the victory.
The consolation ribbon
handed out at the end.
And the cruel part?
They call it love.
The world is vain.
It says
"I want you."
But what it means is,
"I want what you can do for me."
I want your patience.
Your forgiveness
loyalty,
softness,
understanding,
Your silence.
Your ability to survive being unloved."
And when there's nothing left to harvest,
it wonders why the garden died.
"Take it or leave it."
That's everyone's favorite lie.
Because leaving was never really allowed.
Leave,
and suddenly you're ungrateful.
Bitter.
Cruel.
The villain written by someone
who only remembers their own pain.
"I told you who I was."
No.
You told me how little I should expect.
You handed me an empty cup
and called it honesty.
Then watched me spend years
trying to fill it.
And somehow 
that became my mistake.
Maybe that's what angers me most.
Not the rejection, abandonment or entitlement.
The way people devour your devotion
like they're owed it.
The way they accept your love
with open hands
and return it
with closed fists.
The way they let you build a home
inside your chest for them,
then act inconvenienced
when you bleed during the demolition.
I am tired
of being the lesson.
The stepping stone.
The almost.
The person someone dates
right before they find
what they were actually looking for.
I'm tired of being proof
that people can survive without their dreams
while they make damn sure
I never become one.
So let the world keep searching.
Let it chase perfection
until it dies exhausted.
Let it mistake hunger for love
and possession for devotion.
I've seen what it does.
Hold it tightly until it breaks.
Then mourn the wreckage
as if they weren't the reason it shattered.
And if that makes me bitter,
At least bitterness is honest.
Unlike the words
that said,
"I want you,"
when the truth was always,
"You'll do until something better comes along."

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