The First Cut

they say

the first love

is the sweetest.

and the first cut
is the deepest.

i used to think
that meant
the pain.

how deep
somebody could reach
before leaving.

how one person
could walk away

and somehow
take pieces
of your identity
with them.

—

six months ago,

if you asked me
what healing
would look like,

i probably
would’ve described
somebody harder.

somebody colder.

somebody
who learned
not to care
as much.

instead,

the wound
made me warm.

—

i learned

how to look at a woman

without wondering

what she could become

for me.

—

how to enjoy

the way she smiles

without needing

to own the reason.

—

how to remember

what she likes

without expecting

to be remembered

for remembering.

—

how to miss somebody

without turning

their absence

into abandonment.

—

how to feel chemistry

without demanding

a reaction.

—

how to let

a moment

be beautiful

without asking

how long

it plans to stay.

—

i never made

the women who came after

pay the debt

of the heartbreak

that came before them.

—

pain could’ve

made me cruel.

could’ve taught me

to collect hearts

just to prove

mine still worked.

could’ve made

every connection

a competition.

every woman

an opportunity

to prove

i was still wanted.

—

but the deepest cut

didn’t teach me

how to love less.

it taught me

how to carry love

with cleaner hands.

—

how to hold people

without holding

them hostage.

—

the first cut

was the deepest.

but it also cut

the first path

toward everything

i am now.

—

and after everything,

look at me.

still warm.

— Mr. Mak


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