We all have stories that shape us, moments we replay in our memories long after they’re gone. Some are joyful, others painful, and some are transformative in ways we don’t immediately recognize. For me, there were 27 weekends that marked the end of a chapter and the beginning of a new one.
If you’re holding onto pain from your past, know that you’re not alone. It’s okay to grieve, to feel angry, and to question everything you thought you knew. It’s okay to write poetry, to create art, or to express that raw pain through your chosen medium. But don’t let that pain define you. You are stronger than the hurt you’ve endured. You are more than the betrayals you’ve faced. And you have the power to let the past stay where it belongs.
27 Weekends
I told you it was over, drew the line in the sand,
Her perfume lingered in intimate places, I couldn’t ignore,
But you came back, wearing your excuses like a brand,
So I made you sleep on the cold, hard floor.
You said it was nothing. Just a harmless fight,
"Baby, it was just a deodorant war at the office, late last night."
But your lies crumbled under the weight of unspoken truth,
And a woman knows what you won’t admit to.
Six long months, you wouldn’t let go,
You stayed for comfort, or maybe for pride,
Dragging your guilt wherever you’d show,
Me? I saw through every lie you tried to hide.
27 weekends, I counted, each one the same,
Her scent disappeared, but the damage was done,
Your silence a confession, not owning your blame,
I didn’t need proof. I knew you were gone, playing a game.
You sat me down, thinking I’d break,
But you misunderstood the tears on my face.
There wasn’t any sorrow; there wasn’t any pain,
It was freedom breaking through your tightly wound chains.
I cried that day, and you thought it was grief,
But those tears were an expression of long-awaited relief.
Three and a half years, I carried your love's weight,
Wasted too many tears, on you, two-pump chump mate.
Your fake smile, and your weak disguise,
Couldn’t outlast the hell in my eyes.
You lingered too long, hoping I’d bow, I'd bend,
But a woman knows when her love has come to an end.
For six long months, I gave you the floor,
She took over, what had never been mine,
Her acceptance of you, finally closed the door.
That day I cried with joy since a very long time.
I watched you walk away with relief, not regret,
Because loving you taught me some lessons I'll never forget.
Her smell is gone, and gratefully so are you,
But a woman knows what she’s been through.
You didn’t deserve my love, it’s simple as that,
I’m stronger now, and this is the last time I'll look back.
27 weekends, I carried your weight,
But now I’m free, and you’re way too late.
No more lies, no more tears, no more shame,
This wasn’t sorrow; it wasn’t despair,
I let you go, and still I protected your name.
It was the end of a chapter I’m glad no longer is there.
So take your fables, your lies, your regret,
A woman knows when she’s been wronged,
And I’m not a fool, I'll never forget.
Now you’re nothing but a lingering shadow since the day I moved on.
27 weekends or 54 days,
Of enduring your deceitful ways.
The best day of my life was watching you leave,
Setting me free to finally breathe a sigh of relief.
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