Trust You, Why Don’t I Just Trust You

Trust you?

Why the fuck don’t I just trust you?

Like it’s easy.

Like I can unzip my chest

and hand you the last thing that ever felt holy.

 

You think it’s attitude.

You think I’m dramatic.

No.

I’m a graveyard of promises

that swore they’d never panic.

 

Men told me I was safe.

Women swore they’d never run.

Every one of them said,

“I’m not like the others, I’m the one.”

 

Yeah.

The one who lied smooth.

The one who kissed me like a covenant

then ghosted the truth.

The one who held me tight

just to shove me off the edge.

The one who said “trust me”

while pushing me off the ledge.

 

You want vulnerability?

You want me cracked wide?

I’ve been cracked before.

I’ve had people crawl inside

just to map my fears,

memorize my scars,

learn every soft fucking inch of me

then weaponize my heart.

 

So forgive me

if I don’t melt when you say my name.

Forgive me

if love sounds like a rigged-up game.

 

Because I have bled for men.

I have bent for women.

I have folded myself into shapes

that weren’t even human.

 

I trusted hands that held me

and those same hands betrayed.

Trusted mouths that praised me

then turned my name to shade.

 

Trust you?

I don’t even trust the silence.

Silence is where lies grow teeth.

Where “I promise” turns violent

underneath.

 

I’ve been told I was crazy.

Too intense. Too much.

But “too much” was just me noticing

when shit didn’t add up.

 

You think I’m cold?

No. I’m cautious as hell.

When every “forever” I swallowed

turned out to be a sell.

 

I’ve had lovers cheat.

Had lovers disappear.

Had lovers swear on their mother’s grave

then vanish in a year.

 

So when you ask

why I don’t just fucking trust you,

understand this:

 

Trust is not a cute little ribbon

you tie around a bruise.

It’s not a vibe.

It’s not a mood.

It’s a risk you choose.

 

And I’ve chosen wrong

so many damn times

that my heart doesn’t sing anymore,

it just rhymes

in defense.

 

No one can be trusted.

That’s what experience screamed.

Men.

Women.

Every “us” I ever dreamed.

 

So if I hesitate,

if I test you,

if I question every “I love you,”

it’s not because I’m heartless.

 

It’s because I survived

being broken by people

who swore they’d never break me.

 

Trust you?

 

Earn it.

Stay.

Don’t flinch when I shake.

Don’t run when I rage.

Don’t fold when I’m afraid.

 

Because I am so damn tired

of handing out faith

to people who treat it

like something to trade.

 

Trust you?

 

Show me you’re not another lesson

I’ll have to bleed to learn.

 

— Lavender Rose