Joshua Janke Poet Narrative

The woman I met

The woman I met
was nothing like the woman I watched myself destroy.
She loved loud.
No hesitation.
No games hidden behind her ribs.
She handed me her heart
like it had never been broken before.
And me?
I kept both hands on the guard around mine,
clutching old scars
like they were proof I deserved to bleed alone.
I called it protection.
Truth was,
I was more afraid of being loved
than being left.
Years passed.
She stayed patient through every cold silence,
every half-love,
every moment I made her question herself
just because I couldn’t face what was rotting inside me.
She gave me space to heal.
Stayed close without asking for too much.
Separate—
but somehow never apart.
And the worst part is
her presence felt like home.
The kind that quiets the noise in your head.
The kind that makes a broken man believe
maybe he isn’t beyond saving.
But love kept starving beside my fear.
So when I finally dropped my guard,
when I finally opened my eyes,
the woman standing in front of me
wasn’t the woman I met.
She was tired.
Bruised by my distance.
Damaged by the walls I swore were there to protect me.
Careful with her emotions now.
Measured. Controlled.
Like loving me taught her
what pain feels like.
The silence between us got heavier.
You could hear regret breathing in it.
Now I stand here
with my chest split open,
trying to give her every piece of me
I used to hide.
But she can’t take it.
Not because she never loved me—
but because she did for too long.
And now
I’m the one looking insane,
begging at the door
of a heart I taught to lock me out.

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